“Hush!” Morgan commanded in a quiet voice. “Please, don’t utter another word or he might fall.” He sprinted to the windmill and ascended the ladder two steps at a time. His strong, bronzed arm reached up and grasped the child who was only two steps away from the deadly blades and still climbing.
Once Daniel Lee was safely in his sobbing Mother’s arms, Morgan began to tremble with aftershock. His knees felt weak, and he sat down on the ground and wept for what might have been. He immediately started removing the lower ladder steps.
Morgan tousled the boy’s curly hair. “Daniel Lee, what are we going to do with you?” The day before, he took the boys fishing and quickly learned that it was best to keep them near shoals because Daniel Lee walked too close to the water’s edge and fell in. Morgan had to rescue him. “I’ll teach them to swim next summer,” he told Dayme with a grin. “At least, Alexander is teachable. Daniel Lee thinks he already knows how.”
Both youngsters adored their Daddy, and they dogged his heels whenever Erika would allow them. Daniel Lee showed such a keen interest in Morgan’s Colt .45 that he made certain it was well out of reach when he wasn’t wearing it. “Daniel Lee, I think you’re bent on suicide,” he told the child a few days earlier as he took the pistol from the boy’s hand. He allowed the boys to touch the gun while he taught them to respect it and the dangers of mishandling a gun. “Never point a gun at people or animals unless you want them dead,” he patiently explained. “Grown people’s guns are not toys. Guns are serious business. Little boys shoot wooden guns and say ‘bang!’ or else they use slingshots. Slingshots can be dangerous too. Never aim at people.”
“May I shoot your gun, Daddy?" Daniel Lee asked, his mischievous eyes sparkling. “Please?”
“Not until you’re eight,” Morgan replied, “Not a day before.”
Chapter 27
The next morning Morgan took the two youngsters with him to check windmills. It was an all day chore on the huge spread, especially when he took the wagon. That didn’t include fixing any of them, just checking which ones might need to be worked on.
About an hour after the midday meal, Dayme dashed hurriedly outside, buckling her belt. She hastily led the lathered gray gelding tied in front into a stall in the barn. She splashed some water from the horse trough on the nape of her neck, forehead and underarms in an effort to simulate the sweat on the hat. She wiped her hands on her britches legs and gathered a handful of dry dirt. She held it up into the wind to blow toward her. The sound of thundering hooves drew nearer, and her heart flip-flopped as she struggled for composure, trying to figure out what to say. If Morgan were here, she thought, he’d know what to do.
Lt. Muldoon ordered the troops to dismount. “We’ve been tracking Willis Lattimer, Madam…alias “Scat” Lattimer. The tracks lead directly into your barn. Where is he Mrs. Edwards?”
Dayme was coldly sarcastic and strangely calm while talking to the officer. “How should I know? I just rode in. You were chasing me. Has it come to this? Do Fort McKavett soldiers chase down and arrest women nowadays and throw them into the stockade? Try to find a soldier when there’s an Indian attack. They’re nowhere to be found.”
Lt. Muldoon’s steel gray eyes burned into hers. “If we must, Madam.”
“I was riding for my life,” she told him. “I didn’t know what moment your troops would commence firing.”
Lt. Muldoon laughed. “That hat doesn’t belong to you. It’s a mite too big, Milady. Sets too heavy on your ears. I’ve seen you many times on the range always wearing a blue sunbonnet. My soldiers call you “the Texas Bluebonnet”. Why a hat all of a sudden? Trying to tell me that lathered horse is yours? I don’t believe it.”
“Well, it belongs to my husband!” Dayme snapped. She hoped desperately the inward trembling she felt didn’t show. “So today I wore a hat. So what? I wear what I darn well please on the range.”
A black corporal came out of the barn and saluted his superior. “The gelding has a backward ‘P’ on the left hip, sir. Mrs. Edward’s brand is the “T-Cross’. She’s lying, Lieutenant. That’s Potterman's brand.”
“My husband traded for this gelding,” Dayme defended defiantly. “Sure. It came from the Potterman ranch. If you don’t believe me, ask Jake Potterman. His ranch is near Teacup Mountain.”
The officer glared down at the woman in disgust. He had no time to chase all over the country checking out minute details, and she well knew it. “You Rebels do stick together,” he sneered. “Search the place, men.”
“Now, hold on, Lieutenant,” Dayme cried with indignation. “The Civil War is over. The Constitution protects people from illegal search and seizure.” It seemed the appropriate thing to say at the time.
Muldoon’s mouth twisted into a wry grin. “Perhaps you haven’t heard, Madam. The Union won the war. The U. S. Army is in control. It’s called ‘martial law’. Yes, Madam, we are aware of the Bill of Rights. I wouldn’t even think of searching your premises without your express permission or some other good reason such as suspicion of harboring a criminal.” He pulled a paper from his uniform pocket. “This is a military warrant for Lattimer’s arrest. I think you people are hiding him.” His voice was sarcastic and cold. “It’s a penitentiary offense to harbor criminals. Even pretty women can go to prison for obstructing justice. The search is a mere formality. You’ve nothing to fear if you’re telling the truth.” The look on the officer’s face indicated that he didn’t think so.
Dayme felt sick to her stomach, like she might start throwing up. Her insides churned but outwardly it didn’t show. Her chin tilted upward, and she glared at the man. “Well, I am telling the truth,” she lied.
Muldoon pursed his lips. “If you’re hiding the man and refuse entrance, we have two choices. We’ll either storm the place or bivouac and sit back and wait until Mr. Lattimer comes out. In that case, I’ll be forced to arrest you both.”
“I believe you would, you Yankee devil!”
The Lieutenant nodded decisively. “Count on it.”
Considering the predicament she was in and the slight chance that the soldiers wouldn’t find Scat, she decided it was best to agree. She licked her lips because suddenly they felt awfully dry. “Go ahead…look. The man is not here.”
She led the way, pausing at the ranch house door. She turned to the officer and told him coldly, “I’d rather not have your whole army tearing up jack. You and a couple of your soldiers should be sufficient, don’t you think? There’s not another soul here except my housekeeper, Erika Vaught, and me. The wranglers are in the pasture, and my husband took the children with him to check windmills.”
The officer agreed not to bring them all but insisted on five men to search. Dayme’s heart pounded as she opened the door to accommodate the searchers. “I expect you to see that your men don’t destroy the contents of my home. We’re hiding nobody. There’s no need for pulling clothes and quilts out of my closets.” Her green eyes flashed with defiance.
Her last remark, like she hoped it would, sent two enlisted men scurrying to the two unoccupied bedrooms upstairs. Their guns were drawn before either reached the top of the stairs.
“Don’t go in there!” Dayme cried when a private turned the knob to Erika’s bedroom. “Let me see if Mrs. Vaught is dressed.”
“Erika?” she called. “Sorry to disturb your nap, but the army is here. They think Scat Lattimer is hiding in your room.”
“They think what!” Erika called out sleepily. “Nobody’s here but chust me. Let me get my robe. Don’t let them open that door until I get my robe.” The disheveled woman opened the door with a bewildered, shocked expression. “Who is Scat Lattimer?”
“A cold blooded killer, Madam,” Lt. Muldoon replied in a matter-of-fact tone. “A die-hard Rebel still fighting the Civil War. Shot a United States soldier down in cold blood.”
“That’s a lie!” Dayme cried. “The way I heard it, ‘Scat’ fired in self defense! There are witnesses in Scab Town who’ll attest to tha
t fact. That sergeant drew first. Tell it like it is, Lieutenant. That soldier refused to pay ‘Scat’ a debt he owed. There was an argument. The soldier drew first, a fatal mistake on his part. People don’t call Willis Lattimer ‘Scat’ for nothing. It was plain and simple self defense.”
The officer’s steely eyes were unfeeling and cold. “This warrant reads ‘murder’.” He’d grown to detest the citizens of the county. He wasn’t gullible enough to believe a word they said. He’d been tricked too many times.
Erika’s English was heavily accented but her mock mortification was intact. “It’s an insult!” She shouted at the soldier peeking under her bed. “An insult! I am a respectable woman. Since my dear Henry died at Shiloh, there has never been another man in my bedroom!” The housekeeper lied so eloquently with such wide-eyed innocence and feigned righteous anger that Dayme wondered why Erika hadn’t taken up serious acting as a career.
Muldoon was unaccustomed to dealing with hysterical women. He tried to be patient with her. “We’re not suggesting you’ve been intimate with the man, Mrs. Vaught. Good heavens…there’s no call for hysterics.”
After what seemed an eternity to both women, Lt. Muldoon finally ordered the men to abandon the house search. “Go through that barn with a fine-toothed comb. Search the bunkhouse, the foreman’s cabin, all the outhouses and nearby thickets. I know he’s here someplace.”
It was a relief for the soldiers to leave the house until both women saw the officer standing on the braided rug in the dining room. Erika noticed him looking at the floor and knew that somehow, she must divert his attention. “We told you the truth!” the woman told him with righteous indignation. “I, Sir, have never told a lie in my entire life.”
Muldoon didn’t reply. He knew a liar wouldn’t hesitate to say that.
Dayme decided the only way to get the officer off the braided rug where he seemed to have taken root was to walk to the door and open it. “I hope you’re satisfied. Please go.”
Lt. Muldoon was aware that he’d been outdone but could prove nothing. “Perhaps the $500 reward….”
“What!” Dayme’s mouth flew open. She was aghast. “Reward money! Do you honestly believe anybody in this county would turn in one of our own for reward money? We don’t want your blood money. You’re always arresting somebody on one trumped up charge or another.” Her voice was rising in crescendo. “I don’t know where ‘Scat’ Lattimer is but I wouldn’t turn him in if I did! You people know the shooting was self-defense. There’s a grievance committee in Austin right now! There’s talk in town of storming the fort to rescue that woman and children you have locked up.”
Muldoon pointed a long, bony finger in Dayme’s face so close that she considered biting it. “They are not locked up…just confined to the compound for their own protection. There are renegades about, and the family was left alone when her husband high-tailed it. It may be an incentive for her husband to turn himself in. If the villagers are stupid enough to attack Fort McKavett, their shots will be heard all the way to Washington! It will start another Civil War!” His voice rose to a shout as he lost his temper, the last thing he wanted his soldiers to see. He slammed the gate shut and took hold of the reins a trooper handed to him.
“I don’t give a damn if it does!” Dayme taunted over the fence. “The army should be protecting citizens, not harassing them.” The red highlights in her dark auburn hair sparkled in the bright sunlight, and the anger in her face matched it. Her brain kept telling her tongue to hush but it wouldn’t listen. “I hope you don’t find him and execute him before his case can be turned over to civilian authorities. He has a right to trial by his peers, not prejudiced Yankee soldiers! I’ve heard your colonel brag, but we now have enough people here to organize the county. Menard will get the courthouse, not Ft. McKavett.”
Both women breathed sighs of relief when the soldiers finally rode away. “Thank God,” Dayme murmured softly. “He didn’t look in the cellar.”
Erika chuckled. “Your spirited argument with the officer kept him occupied.”
The women pulled away the heavy oak dining table and flipped back the braided
rug over the cellar door. Dayme peered down into the darkness. “You can come up now, “Scat”. The soldiers are gone.”
“Morgan needs to dig a tunnel so a man will have a way out,” Lattimer drawled wearily as he ascended the ladder. “Felt like a trapped possum. If there’d been a shovel down there, I’d o’ started one.”
“You poor man,” Erika cooed, bringing food from the oven while Dayme went outside for milk in the cooler. “You must be starved.”
“I’m so hungry that I could eat a raw Texas Longhorn…hooves, tail and all.”
Willis Lattimer was a wiry man of small stature, with black hair, beard and tiny coal black eyes. The rumpled business suit he wore was the same one he wore on the day of the shooting two weeks ago. The man was so swift in movement that friends often asked him for a match. He would go through all his pockets and have the match struck on a trouser leg before anyone could say “scat”. Townspeople joked about the time Willis opened a jar of olives at a community barbecue. He drained the juice, but the olives stuck in the jar. He hit on the bottom of the jar a couple of times, and all the olives tumbled out at once. He let not an olive fall to the ground. He caught all of them.
“They’re out there somewhere. Watching this house with a spyglass. I can feel it,” Dayme said, shuddering. “Lt. Muldoon wasn’t fooled. He’ll be back. “Those cold, chicken snake eyes….”
“I’ll slip out back,” Lattimer told the women in an apologetic tone. “Don’t want to put you ladies in jeopardy.”
“You’ll do nothing of the sort. Morgan will think of a plan. He’ll be back by dark. What are friends for? You’re staying until it’s safe, and that’s that.”
Erika dished a plateful of food for the hungry man that he immediately began wolfing down. “Erika, my love,” Lattimer said with a mouthful of cold fried chicken. “You’re the best cook in all Menard County. Have I ever asked you to marry me?”
The housekeeper blushed and let out a surprised giggle. “Oh, Mr. Lattimer, how you do go on, flattering the ladies.”
“That suit looks like it was dragged behind a team in a rainstorm. We’ll clean it for you,” Dayme told him. “Morgan’s trousers are too big and long. Could you…?”
The man laughed and shook his head. “Don’t even think about it, Dayme. Give me a pair of Morgan’s. I’ll roll up the legs and tighten my belt. I really ought to get out of here.”
“It’s not just your life, you know. Morgan would try to break you out if they catch you. I know he would. He could get killed in the process.”
The salesman sighed. “Yeah, I expect you’re right. He’d do that. Morgan has covered my backside many a time before. Maybe a bath will get the army off my scent.”
“I have an idea,” Dayme exclaimed. “We’ll disguise you. You can wear one of my dresses and one of my sunbonnets. Morgan can smuggle you to his cabin on Sunday. You can hide on the mountain by day and sleep in the cabin at night.”
Lattimer shifted in his chair. “No, Ma’am,” he replied emphatically. “It’s humiliating enough hidin’ out from the Yankees. I used to face ’em with a gun. No. I’m not wearing women’s clothes, I’d be the laughin’ stock of Menard County. There’s not a man in town who’d let me live that down.”
“It would beat getting caught and tried by the army.”
“My husband’s old Grandpa Vaught used to say, ‘if you’re born to be shot, you’ll never be hung’,” Erika put in. “Still, there’s no sense tempting fate.”
Scat considered the options before he answered. “I’ll go into town with ya’ll,” he drawled. “I’ll hunker down under a wagon sheet, but I won’t wear a dress. Thank you, Missy. I’m just not the sunbonnet type. I believe old Grandpa Vaught was a very wise man. I get shot a-runnin’, so be it. If I get caught and hung, so be it. At least, I can die like a man.”
&nb
sp; “That smart aleck lieutenant accused me of being prejudiced against Negroes,” Dayme told him. “You know that isn’t true, ‘Scat’. I never believed in slavery. It’s wrong for people to own people.”
Lattimer shrugged and buttered another biscuit. “You have a right to your opinion. Now me? I have a right to mine. But that fracas in Scab Town…it was him or me. I shoot any man who draws on me, black or white. If Hank Watts hadn’t yelled, I’d be out on that rocky hillside nestin’ with rattlesnakes, ground squirrels gnawin’ my bones.”
“Would you care for more potatoes, Mr. Lattimer?” Erika asked.
“Yes, please, and another glass of that buttermilk.”
“Who is running your route since the trouble?” Erika inquired. “I chust ran out of lemon flavoring. Need black pepper and liniment, too.”
“Charlie Woodson. With the military on my tail, I suddenly found myself in dire need of a partner.”
“Morgan should be coming home with the children. The sun’s going down.” Erika stepped outside to scan the lane. She scurried back inside, shrieking with dismay. “The soldiers! They’re riding fast…coming back!”
“Oh, Lord.” Dayme slung food and dirty dishes into the oven. “There isn’t time to go back. Quick, Scat! Hide under my dressing table curtain! Keep your mouth and your eyeballs shut!” Furiously, she pumped water into a tin bucket. “Whatever you do, Erika, don’t panic. Help me. Pour this water into the bathtub. I’m gonna take a bath.” She stripped off all her clothes and piled them in a heap on the bedroom floor and climbed into the tall-back porcelain tub. “The soldier who opens this door is in for an eyeful.” There wasn’t enough water to cover unmentionables, and the water was clear.
Lattimer teased her from behind the curtain. “Aw, come on, Dayme…just one little peek?”
“Shut up, ‘Scat’, or I’ll turn you in,” she whispered.
Lt. Muldoon wasn’t nearly so cordial on the second search. He dispensed soldiers to all the outbuildings and to all the rooms of the ranch house, including the attic at the same time. The troopers jerked clothing from hangers. Furniture was overturned in the ruthless search. Muldoon himself jerked away the braided rug and found the cellar.
Child of the River Page 28
