Hard Texas Trail

by Matt Chisholm

  Once, he glanced sideways at her and saw her clear profile in the moonlight. He was a healthy man and he had lusted after women as well as the next man, but the sight of this girl aroused an emotion which he had never experienced before. It was as though some strange tenderness had come to the surface from a previously unknown depth of his being. It wasn’t just her beauty, of that he was sure. It was something deeper than that. With something akin to awe, he wondered if he were in love. Something warned him to go cautiously. A man could get trapped for the rest of his life this way.

  When the girl spoke, she didn’t raise her head or look at him. Her voice was gentle, clear and throaty. He’d never heard a woman who spoke the way she did. She surely was no Texan.

  ‘Clay, ‘ she said, ‘I don’t want to read anything important into your saving my life. Nor into your fighting Running Dog. I don’t want to make anything out of anything. I don’t want you to feel responsible for me.’

  She could want all she wanted, he thought, but that didn’t do away with the fact that he did feel responsible for her.

  He wished he could talk, that he had the trick of words. He wanted to be able to convey his thoughts to her. But he didn’t know for sure what those thoughts were. He just knew that he had a powerful feeling inside him.

  She went on–’I have no right to ask anything of you,’ she said. ‘I know that. Just the same, I want to ask a favor of you. Say what you want. Tell me to ... Clay, how far off are the settlements?’

  He turned and looked at her. She didn’t turn to meet his gaze with hers.

  ‘We cross the Red tomorrow,’ he said. ‘There’s a store on the far side. There’s women and kids there. You’ll be safe there.’

  ‘I−’ she wanted to say something and she couldn’t get it out.

  ‘Say it,’ Clay told her. ‘I ain’t liable to eat you.’

  She smiled and turned to him then. How could a woman, he asked himself, have so much character and fire and be so gentle at the same time? The fact puzzled him and maddened him a little. He was used to simple and straightforward girls, who made simple claims and had simple appetites.

  ‘You’re a strange one,’ she said. ‘I never knew a man like you.’

  He was surprised.

  ‘Me?’ he said. ‘Heck, I’m just like anybody else.’ That was true. That was what he thought. Maybe a bit more of a coward than most men. Maybe he didn’t like violence and guns like many of them seemed to. He liked the quiet life.

  ‘You don’t do yourself justice,’ she said. ‘You’re not the usual roughneck Texas cowhand.’

  That got him a little mad. What was so wrong with a Texas cowhand? She seemed to condemn his whole tribe with her words.

  ‘Whoa,’ he said. ‘There ain’t nothin’ wrong with my kind of folks. We’re a mite wild and woolly maybe, but -’

  ‘I’m not saying anything against them,’ she said; ‘but you have to admit they like to fight, to hate Indians, to -’

  ‘They only do that because that’s the way their lives have made them,’ he protested. ‘They had to fight to live. The Comanches used to ride through here stealin’ horses and children. A man has to defend his own.’

  ‘I’m not starting a long and involved argument,’ she said. ‘I’m just trying to say there’s something gentle in you. Is there anything wrong with that?’

  Clay smelled an insult somewhere, but he was not quite sure where. He was a product of his time and his location. He lived in a world where physical living was harsh and most humor was cruel. He realized with something like alarm that this girl was more alien to him than he could have guessed.

  ‘See here−’ he said, then he didn’t know what he was going to say.

  ‘I’m asking a favor,’ she said. She laid a hand on his arm. Her touch seemed to burn through the sleeve of his coat. He had an impulse to put an arm around her and kiss her. But the thought of her having been with the Indians stopped him. Not because she had been with them, but because she might think he was getting fresh and he didn’t respect her on account of what had happened to her.

  ‘Ask away,’ he said.

  ‘Don’t hand me over when we cross the river.’

  Now he was startled.

  ‘Why not?’ he demanded.

  ‘There’s nothing for me at any settlement,’ she said. ‘Maybe I don’t want to face white folks after what happened to me.’

  He said: ‘Folks understand.’

  ‘Folks never understand,’ she said. ‘Even your crew don’t understand. Do you think I don’t notice the way they look at me?’

  ‘Girl,’ he said, ‘you’ll have to go back among white folks sometime. It ain’t no good puttin’ off the day.’

  ‘I knew you’d say that,’ she said.

  ‘It’s the truth.’

  ‘So you’re saying “no”,’ she said.

  ‘Try an’ understand,’ he said.

  ‘No,’ she said, ‘you try to understand.’ Suddenly, she was fierce. The grip on his arm tightened. ‘I don’t want any of their damn pity.’

  ‘See here,’ he said, ‘we’re headed home to the Nueces just to sell up the old place. We gather a herd and we head out for Colorado. What do you want? That we should leave you at some village in south Texas?’

  ‘I’ll come with you to Colorado,’ she said.

  He was aghast.

  ‘You’re outa your mind,’ he said. ‘You on the trail?’

  ‘I’ve come this far with you!’ she cried. ‘Your mother and your sisters went up to Kansas with you.’

  ‘But there’s the crew,’ he protested.

  ‘You’re in charge, aren’t you?’

  ‘The answer’s still “no”,’ he said and he hated himself as he said it. But he knew how the men would react, what they would think. He wouldn’t help her if he delayed her return to civilization.

  She stood up and looked at him.

  ‘I think I hate you,’ she said.

  He reached out a hand for her, but she stepped back, turned and walked away through the trees.

  He called after her: ‘Sarah,’ but she went on.

  He stood brooding, staring at the moon reflected in the water. Then aloud, he said: ‘God-damn women.’

  Chapter Six

  They crossed the Red and they were in sight of Parson’s store.

  Clay was riding at the head of the crew. The girl was somewhere behind riding by George’s side. Most of the men were eager for the place up ahead. It meant clean clothes, a drink, a good meal, a chance to lay in the supplies they now needed badly. It meant too that they would see some new faces and that was what men on the trail wanted more than anything else.

  Ahead of them was a scattering of buildings, some in timber, but most of them made from adobe. Smoke rose from stone chimneys, horses flicked their tails drowsy in the sun outside at the hitching rail. There was no mistaking the main store - a long low building on the crest of the ridge above the river, made of a mixture of logs and adobe. To one end of it was a large adobe corral. They could hear the clang of a blacksmith’s anvil as they headed up the slope.

  Meredith Quintin gave a shrill Rebel cry and shouted: ‘We’re back in good ole Texas, boys.’ There was a lot of laughing and shouting. Manning Oaks started to gallop his pony,

  Jody gave a yell and went after him. Then the others followed and the loose horses ran with them.

  Clay turned in the saddle and looked back at Sarah. She was staring straight ahead of her and on her face was a strained hard look. Clay had never seen her like that before. For a moment, she was no longer a beautiful woman. Then she turned her eyes and looked at him. He reined in his horse and waited for her. When she was beside him, she stopped.

  ‘So you’re going to hand me over,’ she said. ‘Just as if I were a piece of somebody’s property that went astray.’

  ‘It’s not like that,’ he said lamely. ‘Sarah ... we have to get you back to your folks. You never said anything about them, but they’re someplace waitin
g for you, wonderin’ if you’re alive.’

  The boys had brought their horses to a skidding halt in front of the store. The horses already hitched outside, jumped, startled by the onrush. The boys piled out of the saddle and started to troop into the building.

  ‘There’re no folks,’ she said. ‘Get it into your head right now. I’ve been with the Indians. You’re going west, Clay. Please let me come with you. Nobody’ll know me there. Nobody will know I’ve been with the Indians.’

  He tried to change the subject a little.

  ‘We have to get you some duds,’ he said. ‘You can’t go walkin’ around in them buckskins.’

  ‘Why not?’ she demanded. ‘It tells everybody what I am. They’ll know pretty soon anyway.’

  ‘Please,’ he said, ‘could you act like a sensible girl, for just one minute? Is that too much to ask?’

  ‘I’m not going near that store.’

  He looked around. There was a clump of trees a hundred yards along the river bank. They threw a dark patch of shade.

  ‘See those trees yonder,’ he said. ‘We’ll make camp there. You go down there an’ wait.’

  She looked at him doubtfully for a moment, then without another word she turned her horse and rode it at a walk toward the trees. As he watched her go, she looked pitifully small, defenseless.

  Aw, hell, he thought. Just like a woman to put you in a fix like this.

  He turned and rode toward the store. When he got inside there was the crew drinking with a half-dozen strangers. Big Charlie Parsons presided, dishing out drinks from behind a plank counter, his jovial face smiling, his small sharp eyes counting the profit. Clay had never seen him before, but every man who had been up the trail to Kansas knew of the man who kept the store at the crossing of the Red. He found himself shaking hands, a drink was given him and he drank it. It was little more than snake-juice, but he found it cut the dust and he was grateful for it. He got caught up in the talk, but his mind was on the girl down by the river. The others had apparently forgotten her. The talk was all about a bunch of Kiowas that had come through here a week back. There had been some shots fired, but the Indians had thought the place too strong and had moved on south. Parsons reckoned they were after easy horses.

  Clay maneuvered around to get the trader alone so that he could talk to him without being heard, but it took him some time. Only when the man moved to the far end of the store to fetch something did he find the opportunity. He followed him quickly and said: ‘Do you have any women’s duds in stock, Mr. Parsons?’

  The trader turned and looked at him in surprise.

  ‘Women’s duds, Mr. Storm?’

  ‘That’s what I said.’ Clay found himself acutely embarrassed.

  ‘Women’s duds? Why, who’re they for?’

  ‘They surely ain’t for me.’

  ‘Aw, I see. You want to take a present home. Somethin’ fancy. Why, I don’t hold that kinda stock here, Mr. Storm. I−’

  ‘I don’t want nothin’ fancy. Just everyday woman’s duds.’

  ‘What size?’

  Clay thought. He flattened his hand and put the edge against his chest.

  ‘She comes about up to here. She’s−er−kinda slim, I reckon. You could say a mighty handsome figure.’

  ‘I’m sure, Mr. Storm.’

  The trader swept away, went back to the counter that had served as a bar and wiped it clean. He moved bottles and glasses to one side and disappeared into a dark corner. In a moment, he reappeared with an armful of cloth. He laid this on the counter and held up a woman’s dress to himself.

  The talking stopped.

  Clay went up to the counter, his ears burning. He wished he were anywhere but there. He cursed Parsons to himself.

  He banked on the good manners of the strangers to keep their thoughts silent. But he didn’t account for the drinks consumed.

  A strange voice behind him said: ‘Somebody’s gotten a sweetheart.’ There was drunken archness in the tone.

  ‘No,’ said Manning Oaks, ‘she ain’t no sweetheart. We have a woman along.’

  Suddenly, Clay got mad. He didn’t like Sarah being called a woman. He would have said ‘lady’ himself.

  Parsons said in astonishment: ‘You got a woman along. You come down the trail an’ -’

  ‘She was took by the Indians,’ Manning said.

  Then all the strangers there talked at once. Parsons pushed through the talk with: ‘You mean you’ve gotten a woman from the Indians? You have her here? My wife will want to see her, Mr. Storm. Why, the poor thing. Have her in here, Mr. Storm.’

  Suddenly, Clay hated him. The little eyes popped with curiosity.

  ‘No call for that,’ Clay said.

  One of the strangers said: ‘Have her in, man. She wants to see a white woman.’

  Clay turned.

  ‘She ain’t ready yet,’ he said. ‘She’ll stay in camp a bit.’ He turned back to the trader. ‘Give me two of everythin’ a lady needs.’

  He wanted somebody to say something out of place, he wanted one man to laugh and he’d cut his heart out. Nobody laughed. The trader started to make up a bundle. Clay chose two dresses. He paid the man and took the bundle under his arm. He walked out, his eyes daring somebody to say something. But they didn’t. He was thankful to get out in the hot sun and to step into the saddle. He took the two packhorses with him and rode down to the trees. He found Sarah there in the shade with her feet in the water. He got down from his horse and dropped the bundle beside her. She looked at him questioningly, got to her feet with the bundle in her arms and walked away from the water’s edge. Dropping to her knees, she untied the bundle and started to sort through the clothing. Clay turned away because the women’s things embarrassed him.

  He heard an exclamation and turned.

  ‘You bought these for me?’

  ‘There ain’t no other female around,’ he said.

  ‘What does this mean, Clay?’ she asked.

  ‘It means you can look like a white woman again.’

  ‘Will I ever feel like one again?’

  ‘That’s up to you.’

  ‘So I dress in these, then I go up to that store and then I’m received back into the fold by the good Christian folk. Branded so they all know.’

  ‘You ain’t branded, Sarah. You ain’t no different to anybody else.’

  ‘They’ll tell each they can smell the Indian on me.’

  He said: ‘You don’t have to go up there, Sarah.’

  She jerked her head around to stare at him.

  ‘And what does that mean?’ Her mouth trembled.

  ‘It means you can come on south with us.’

  She got to her feet and gave a short laugh.

  ‘That wasn’t easy, was it, Clay?’

  ‘No, ma’am.’

  ‘The crew aren’t going to like it.’

  ‘Some will, some won’t.’

  ‘And when we reach your home, what happens?’

  ‘You’ll be a long ways from the Indians. Nobody’ll know.’

  ‘The crew will.’

  ‘We’ll face that one when we come to it.’

  She really smiled and said: ‘You know what I’m going to do now? I’m going to take a bath, I’m going to come out of that river cleaner than I ever was before and I’m going to dress in white clothes.’

  ‘I’ll git a fire a-goin’,’ Clay said. ‘Best git behind them bushes, the boys’ll be comin’ in pretty soon.’

  Chapter Seven

  The boys came back from the store well after dark and most of them had drunk too much. Clay never liked to take too much to drink and he felt a little impatience with them. Jody was acting just plain foolish and the quicker he got between his blankets the better; George wanted to do nothing but sleep. Charlie Quintin and Juan Mora were enjoying some private joke and joshing each other violently. Meredith Quintin tripped over a pack and hit the dirt hard. Everybody laughed and clung to each other. Some foul language decorated the night air.
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  Clay said: ‘Cut that out. There’s a lady here.’ It sounded stupid and pretentious even to him.

  There was immediate silence.

  Manning Oaks swayed in the firelight.

  ‘You mean she’s still here?’ he said.

  He blinked around till he found her sleeping form on the far side of the camp. Only he knew she couldn’t be asleep, not with that racket going on. George found a blanket and a paulin and fell down untidily and was almost instantly snoring.

  Manning said: ‘Does this mean she’s stayin’, Clay?’ He was aggressively drunk.

  ‘Git some sleep, Mannin’,’ Clay said. ‘We’ve movin’ out early in the mornin’. ‘

  ‘You think I can’t take a drink and get up with first light? You think I’m a God-damn green hand or somethin’. ‘

  Clay tried to ignore him.

  Drunk though he was, Jody smelled trouble.

  ‘Cool it off, Mannin’,’ he said.

  ‘You keep outa this, kid.’

  To call Jody ‘kid’ was like touching him with a hot branding iron.

  ‘You want real trouble,’ he said, ‘you call me that the oncet more.’

  Clay said: ‘Git some sleep, Jode. Go on now.’

  It would have been all right, if the girl hadn’t sat up in her blankets and said: ‘Yes, she’s staying, Manning Oaks. Is the hired man going to have his say about that?’

  Manning said something he would never have said sober. There was a sudden deathly stillness in the camp. Clay saw every man clearly, high-lighted by the fire, features standing out boldly from the deep shadows. It even seemed to sober Jody. George rose on one elbow and said: ‘I heard that. By God, Oaks, I heard that. You take that back. You apologize or I’ll ...’ He tried manfully to get to his feet, but his legs failed him and he pitched forward toward the fire.

  Clay cursed the girl to himself, but he knew he couldn’t let this ride.

  Jody said: ‘A man wants gunnin’ for a remark like that.’

  Oaks looked savage and bewildered.

  ‘You mean you want her along?’ he demanded.