A Trail Too Far

by Robert Peecher

  17

  Martha Cummings did not speak to complain or argue. She made no effort to flee. She simply rode in the saddle, her hands tight to the pommel, and her chin held high in what she hoped was a posture of defiance.

  She did not try to think of what these men intended to do with her, though she had suspicions. Had she not heard her husband say that the women murdered at the farm back east were violated? But she was not the sort of woman to weep or despair. She prayed silently for deliverance and clung to some hope that somewhere, somehow, the Lord would intervene.

  "We're lost," Dick Derugy complained.

  It did seem to Martha Cummings that they were riding aimlessly. The light from the camp was disappeared now. She did not know if they had ridden two miles or five. In the blackness of night, she had no concept of space or time, and her fear and her exhaustion prevented her from having any kind of intuition about time or distance.

  "We ain't lost," Mickey Hogg snapped, though they were not at a standstill, and Mickey was standing up in his stirrups looking for any sign of which way to go. "I should have brought Bill. Didn't he say before Lawrence he'd been down here along the Pawnee River? Ain't that where he gets his name? He could have found the way back, sure."

  "You can't trust Bill around no woman," Dick Derugy said. "He'd have already had at her as soon as you got away from that camp and the station house. I'll tell you another thing, too, about Bill. If you don't want her all beat up in the face, you'd better take her first. Bill can't enjoy a woman proper if he ain't hittin' her. That's why all the whores in Topeka won't touch him."

  "Is that what you men intend for me?" Martha Cummings asked, suddenly finding her voice and her courage. "To take turns violating a married woman and then hand me over to a man who will beat me?"

  "You keep your jaw shut," Mickey Hogg snarled. "Married or no, you're still a woman."

  Dick Derugy laughed, but it was an uncomfortable laugh. In his discomfort, Martha Cummings found a grain of hope.

  And then she had an idea. She would shame these men.

  "'Be strong and of good courage,'" she said loudly, enunciating each word clearly. "'Fear not, nor be afraid of them: For the Lord thy God, he it is that doth go with thee; He will not fail thee, nor forsake thee.'"

  "What is that?" Mickey Hogg asked, his voice a curse. "Is you preaching?"

  "It is Deuteronomy," Martha Cummings said.

  "Well, stop it," Mickey Hogg said. "I ain't get you out here to listen to no sermonizing."

  But Martha found strength in the words, and she spoke again, louder this time. "'Fear thou not, for I am with thee!'" Martha said. "'Be not dismayed, for I am thy God: I will strengthen thee, yea, I will help thee; yea, I will uphold thee with the right hand of my righteousness.'"

  "I told you to stop that," Mickey Hogg said.

  "That is Isaiah," Martha Cummings said. "These are promises of protection from God, and so long as I carry these promises I will not be afraid of you."

  "You shut your mouth, or I'll shut your mouth," Mickey Hogg said.

  "'Deliver me from my enemies, O God; be my fortress against those who are attacking me!'" Martha shouted the words now, defiantly, at Mickey Hogg, and the man wheeled his horse and tried to reach out at her, but Martha's horse became startled and started to dance away from Mickey Hogg.

  "Enough of that, I said!" Mickey yelled at her, reaching for her and missing.

  "'Thou shalt stretch forth thine hand against the wrath of mine enemies,'" Martha shouted, swatting at Mickey Hogg's outstretched hand as her horse continued to dance in circles. "'And thy right hand shall save me!'"

  Mickey lunged, clutching at Martha, but he went too far and began to fall from his saddle. All the same, he'd caught hold of her arm, and with his full weight dragging her, Mickey Hogg and Martha Cummings both crashed to the ground. The nervous horses stamped hooves all around them, and one of them kicked Mickey hard in the sides.

  He let loose a string of expletives as he got to his feet, pushing against the horses. Then he dragged Martha Cummings to her feet and slapped her hard across the face.

  "You want to see what shouting Bible verses gets you out here?" Mickey Hogg asked, and his voice was vicious and cruel. He slapped her again and ripped her shirt from the neck to the navel. "You're about to find out what damn good yourn Bible verses is out here!"

  There was not much light, but Dick Derugy licked his lips as he watched Mickey slap the woman again. He wished he could see better. He knew her shirt was torn, and he ached to see better.

  "Get her, Mickey!" Dick Derugy said, excitement filling him and all his attention on Mickey Hogg as he brutalized the woman. "Come on and get her stripped! We'll both have her."

  Dick Derugy's pulse was racing and he was in such a state that he never saw the butt of the Hawken rifle swinging toward the side of his head. The Hawken impacted with a harsh thud, and Dick Derugy's entire world went black as he fell from the saddle.

  Rab Sinclair slung the barrel around fast so that his right hand was gripping the stock and his finger on the trigger as he thumbed back the hammer on the long rifle.

  "Turn loose of that woman," Rab said.

  But Mickey Hogg was in as much a state of excitement as Dick Derugy had been. He didn't hear Rab Sinclair's soft, easy voice. He was now clutching Martha Cummings by the shoulders as she tried to wrestle free from his grip.

  Rab twitched his lips in frustration and took three, quick steps closer to where Mickey Hogg had hold of Martha Cummings.

  Mickey may not have heard Rab's easy voice, but Martha Cummings heard it, and the cool night air finding its way through the vent in her shirt sent a chill up her spine and down her arms, and suddenly she felt embraced by the coolness. And she smiled.

  It was the smile that made him stop. Black as the night was, Mickey Hogg saw the smile cross her face, and the peace that came with the smile, and he was dumbfounded.

  "What in hell are you smiling about?" he asked.

  "'He is my shield, and the horn of my salvation,'" Martha Cummings said.

  A rage flew through Mickey Hogg, and he raised up his arm high above his head with the intention of smashing his fist into her face, but that's when Rab Sinclair jabbed the barrel of the Hawken into Mickey Hogg's armpit.

  "You done made a bad mistake," Rab said, and though his voice was still easy, it was loud, and Mickey Hogg heard it well. "You keep that hand up there where it is, and you turn loose of that woman and put the other hand up with it."

  Mickey Hogg released his grip on Martha's shoulder. Martha Cummings grabbed at the torn shirt and pulled it over her chest, but the smile on her face had not left.

  "Mrs. Cummings, if you'd be so good as to undo his gun belt and take that scattergun off of him, I'd be obliged."

  She made to reach for the belt, but she could not unbuckle it with just one hand.

  "My shirt is torn, Mr. Sinclair," she said.

  "Yes, ma'am," Rab said. "But that don't matter near as much as taking that scattergun away from him. Sooner you do that, sooner we can deal with your shirt."

  "Of course," Martha said, and she released the shirt, though she tried to keep herself bent so that it would hang in front of her and keep her covered as she took off the gun belt.

  "Just to remind you," Rab said to Mickey Hogg. "This is a fifty-caliber Hawken that's jabbed into your armpit. I pull this trigger, and I reckon it'll pop your head right off your neck. So you might want to ask Mrs. Cummings if she's got any Bible verses that'll rid a man of the sneezes, 'cause I've got an itchy nose, and if I sneeze I don't see no way this trigger don't get pulled."

  Mickey Hogg clenched his jaw but did not say a word.

  "Mrs. Cummings, do you know any Bible verses related to sneezes?" Rab asked.

  "Not off the top of my head, Mr. Sinclair," Martha said, finally getting the buckle undone. She stepped away from Mickey Hogg, his gun belt and scattergun in one hand, and the other back to her shirt.

  Rab glanced at Mart
ha Cummings to be sure she had stepped far enough away.

  "Now just toss that gun down behind you there in the grass. It'll be well out of his reach there. Then step over to that fellow I knocked off his horse. You needn't worry about him. He'll not be waking up anytime soon. Slide his gun out of its holster and toss it with the other one."

  Martha did as Rab asked her.

  "If you step over there to Cromwell, you'll find my coat laid across my saddle. You can put that on and button it up."

  "Thank you, Mr. Sinclair. You're very kind."

  Mickey Hogg's arms were getting tired, but he did not move. It was not just the Hawken shoved into his armpit, but it was also that this boy had somehow found them out in the middle of the prairie with nary a bit of light to see by. Mickey knew where he was going and he was lost, yet somehow this boy had discovered them in the middle of nowhere.

  And that frightened him.

  "Now, ma'am, if you'd take them three hawsses there and lead them off in that direction a ways, I'd be obliged. Probably be best if you keep your back to us."

  "Why is that, Mr. Sinclair?" Martha Cummings asked, her tone harsh.

  "Ma'am, I intend to shoot these two fellow, and I guess I'd rather not do that in front of you," Rab said.

  "You can't!" Mickey Hogg screeched. "That's murder. I'm unarmed."

  "I reckon it is murder," Rab agreed, "but I don't expect anyone's going to care."

  "I would care, Mr. Sinclair," Martha Cummings said.

  "Ma'am?" Rab asked.

  "I strenuously object, Mr. Sinclair," Martha said. "You cannot murder these men."

  Rab Sinclair twitched his lips and shook his head.

  "Mrs. Cummings, this here fellow punched you and threatened to do worse. And I promise you, his intention was to kill you when he was done. And then I reckon he intended to go with them others and kill the rest of your friends and family. Your husband, your sons, and your daughter. He's a villain, Mrs. Cummings. He's a damned snake in the garden, and the best thing we can do right now is cut off the snake's head."

  Martha Cummings waited a few beats of her heart before she answered.

  Mickey Hogg thought about trying to push the Hawken away and wrestle his way to freedom, but he suspected he couldn't get the gun away before he was shot through. His best bet, he knew, was with the woman.

  "Mr. Sinclair, my family objects to violence, and we'll not have you perpetrate murder on our behalf. I'll not argue the matter with you. You may not kill them."

  Rab jabbed the Hawken rifle deeper into Mickey Hogg's armpit until he yelped in pain.

  "You don't deserve her kindness," Rab said.

  He eased down the hammer on the Hawken, and as soon as it clicked home, he spun the gun so fast that Mickey Hogg still did not realize it was out of his armpit. As the barrel came around into his hands, Rab Sinclair clutched it like a club and swung it as hard as he could so that the butt of the rifle smashed Mickey Hogg square in the face.

  Mickey crumpled to a pile on the ground, as unconscious as Dick Derugy.

  Rab kicked his feet around in the grass for just a moment, but he did not immediately find the scattergun and Dick Derugy's pistol.

  "I sure hate leaving them weapons here where they might find them in the daylight, but I reckon I can leave them with some other problems. First thing, we'll take their hawsses. Leave them saddles off those two, though. They are trashy things, and I don't want to have them around. Any man that won't take decent care of his saddle is a fool who don't deserve to ride."

  Rab was agitated. He believed that leaving these men alive was a terrible mistake. But he also was unwilling to execute them over Martha Cummings' objections.

  Rab now took a length of rope from one of the horses, and he lashed Dick's hands behind his back. Then he walked over and tied Mickey's hands behind his back. He dragged Mickey's limp form over to where Dick was on the ground, and then Rab took another length of rope and tied an end in a slip knot around each man's neck, leaving very little slack between them.

  Rab laughed a little to himself, and he then tied Mickey's left leg to Dick's right leg.

  "These two will have hell trying to get themselves untied from each other without choking one another," Rab said, his voice full of mirth. He laughed again thinking about the trouble he was putting them to. "They may wake up later and wish very much you'd have just let me shoot 'em."

  He tried one more time to find where Martha Cummings had tossed the guns, kicking his feet through the tall grass, but then he gave up.

  "We should get on," he said.

  Rab mounted Cromwell and Martha got on the horse she'd left saddled. The other two horses followed them, as horses are wont to do, as they road back toward he stagecoach relay station and the Cummings camp.

  ***

  Even in the pitch black of night, Rab Sinclair seemed to know his way.

  They trotted a little, but mostly walked the horses out across the open plain. Rab Sinclair smoked his pipe, and the orange glow from the bowl lit up his face whenever he puffed on it.

  "Are you terribly mad at me?" Martha Cummings asked, breaking what had been a long silence.

  "Mad at you?" Rab asked. "What for?"

  "Because I stopped you from killing those men," Martha said.

  Rab puffed on the pipe, and Martha thought she saw an unfamiliar look of concern on his face.

  "I'm afraid we might regret that decision," Rab said. "Them's vile men, Mrs. Cummings. You had just a taste of it. I'm worried they're like rattlers, and all we did was rile them. I dealt with them pretty easy that time because there warn't but the two of 'em and they didn't expect me. But I reckon they made it easier than it'll be the next time."

  Martha Cummings wondered, briefly, if she had made a terrible mistake. Could she have maintained her principles – her husband's principles – if it was the young guide committing violence? She did not think so. Whatever way she might choose to try to justify it, the fact was that if she had allowed Rab Sinclair to murder those men, it would have been in her name. When she first saw the Hawken rifle go into Mickey Hogg's armpit, she had hoped that Rab would just pull the trigger and let the man die. But that hope was fleeting, and the moment she felt safe, it was gone.

  "My husband is a chaplain, a man of the Word," Martha Cummings said. "He teaches moral philosophy at the university. And his moral philosophy tells him that it is wrong to take another man's life. If my husband, or I, permitted you to kill these men in our names, it would make a lie of everything my husband has ever taught in his classes. It would make a lie of all he believes and holds important. Can you understand why it is so important to us, Mr. Sinclair?"

  "I understand," Rab said. "I just think you're husband's philosophy is dangerous."

  Martha did not answer. Instead, she rode quietly for a few minutes. Then she spoke again.

  "How did you find me?" she asked.

  "I've been following them fellows all day," Rab said. "After y'all left out last night to drive through the night, I stayed back and waited. I hid myself not far from where the camp was, down below a little hill. Sure enough, they tried to sneak into the camp, and they were quite a bit miffed when they realized you'd left out. At dawn they hurried after you, and I followed behind. It ain't an easy thing to follow a man on these plains, I can tell you that. When a man can see forever, it's hard to stay out of his sight. But they drove their animals something cruel, and that helped because they didn't much check their back trail. Come dusk, they came within sight of the stage station and your camp, and that's when they cut out across the plains to make their own camp. When those two back there set out for your camp, I followed them. I was there when they took you, and if it had turned violent I was ready for them. But when they left the others unmolested and just took you, I kept on following."

  Rab puffed his pipe some more, but it had gone dead. So he knocked it against the heel of his hand and then refilled the bowl and lit it again.

  "I planned on taking them wh
en they got back to their camp. I reckoned that would be the right time. They'd be distracted enough that I figured I could put a bullet in two or three of them pretty quick. But then I heard you saying all them Bible quotes, and I figured things were about to go bad. Men like that don't care for Bible verses being said to them. So that's when I rode on up and went to work on 'em."

  "I did not know how the Lord would deliver me, but I suppose I am not surprised that you were the sword and shield he provided."

  Rab chuckled. "Yes, ma'am, I reckon it wasn't likely to be anybody else out here."

  In the distance, Rab could see lights glowing.

  "There's your camp," he said. "It looks to me like they've discovered your absence. Quite a few lanterns are lit. And they're lit at the station house there, too."

  "We've returned much faster than I expected to," Martha said.

  "Yes, ma'am. When they rode out with you, they rode around in circles for quite a while."

  Martha Cummings rode the rest of the way into camp in silence, considering the last few hours. Terrible emotions – terror, as the knife came around her throat, settled into a resigned fear when Mickey Hogg and Dick Derugy led her out through the plains. And then that resigned fear gave way to a strange sense of calm confidence as reminders of where to seek her refuge began to come into her mind as if spoken directly to her by Providence: verses long forgotten by a woman who had outgrown girlish fears and had settled into adulthood with the sense of security that comes with a life in society. Then the sudden exhilaration sparked when like a wraith, Rab Sinclair appeared out of the darkness of the empty plains and delivered her.

  And now all that terror had become – she struggled to put a name to it. Mirth?

  Martha laughed at the thought of how Rab Sinclair had so easily unstrung her assailants. And then strung them.

  She had a deep admiration for the young guide and his prowess.

  But she realized that in the camp it was probably still her initial emotion of terror that still reigned. So she urged the horse forward at a trot.

  D.B. and Silas Carver, the men from the stage station, were both in the camp with Martha's husband and brother. The four men were walking around with lanterns in their hands, looking at the ground for signs, evidence of what might have happened to Martha Cummings.