A Trail Too Far

by Robert Peecher

  Gingerly, Rab wrapped his fingers around the grip of the knife, trying not to put any pressure on it until he was ready.

  "Bite down hard, now," Rab said. Quick as he could, Rab jerked the knife from Jeremiah's side. His scream of pain was muffled some by the block of wood in his teeth, but he still shouted as the knife slid from his body.

  "Hold him," Rab said to Rachel, and he poured water from the canteen into the wound. "I'll be right back."

  Rab rummaged through one of the wagons until he found a jar of honey, and he took that back Jeremiah and Rachel. Rab used his own knife and cut Jeremiah's shirt away, exposing the wound. With the knife out of his side, Jeremiah was breathing easier, though he was still in terrible pain. He had already spit the wood from his mouth.

  "That's at least some better," he told Rab.

  "Pour some of this honey into that wound," he said. "Pack it in there so that it gets deep. Don't cover it, or if you do, don't press down too hard on it. After some time, maybe half an hour or an hour, it's going to start to run out. That's good, and you want it to do that. When it stops coming out, you pour more honey in there. Then just let him rest. Make him comfortable. He'll be sore, but he'll survive this."

  Paul, the youngest of the Cummings sons, was missing. Rab could not see him anywhere. He also did not know what happened to Rebekah Bancroft or the children. He did not think any of them had been taken, but he did not readily see them.

  He checked quickly on Stuart Bancroft. He was holding the bandanna against his head and seemed to be coming around some.

  "They took Martha," Stuart said.

  "I'm aware," Rab told him.

  Now he went to Amos Cummings.

  Amos was still bent over his dead son, still talking to God and blaming himself.

  Rab stepped over to him and put a hand on his shoulder. It was a firm hand. If the man needed comfort over the loss of his son, Rab Sinclair was not there to give it.

  "Now ain't the time for mourning, Mr. Cummings. I know you're sore pained, but there's living folks who need you to do things now. You can mourn when those things that need doing are done. Stand up and lend me a hand."

  Amos Cummings did not argue, but in a daze he struggled up to his feet. His legs felt as if he would collapse.

  "Your son Paul is gone," Rab said. "I cannot find him. I also do not know what happened to Mrs. Bancroft and her children. Mr. Devalt is dead and Mr. Bancroft and Jeremiah are both hurt. I need you to take one of those lanterns and go toward the spring. I'm guessing that's where Mrs. Bancroft took her children. Call for her and bring her back here. But when you bring her back, take her around the other way so that she and the children do not see Matthew's body."

  "Where is Martha?" Amos Cummings asked. "They killed our son."

  "Yes, sir," Rab said. "They did. And they hurt Jeremiah, and I don't know what happened to Paul. Do you understand me?"

  Amos Cummings had a blank look on his face – a mixture of shock and sorrow.

  "Where is Martha?" he asked again.

  "Mr. Cummings, they rode off with your wife," Rab said. "And that's why I need you to get yourself together now."

  In spite of the carnage, Rab Sinclair was calm. His easy way of talking did not give way to the panic that had swept over the rest of the party. But his patience with Amos Cummings was being tested.

  "I understand you're upset. I need you to get together and go find Mrs. Bancroft."

  Still, Amos Cummings looked at Rab with a blank stare.

  "This is my fault," Amos Cummings said. "It was my idea to come west. Matthew is dead because of me."

  Rab slapped Amos Cummings across the face.

  "Listen to me," Rab said, and there was anger in his voice. "You get yourself together. I know you're suffering, but them that's alive need tending to, and you're the only one I've got who can tend to them. Get the lantern like I told you and go find Mrs. Bancroft and those children. Do it now."

  The slap was what got his attention and broke the spell that had taken hold of Amos. He nodded.

  "I will go and find them," he said. "You think they're near the spring?"

  "Go and look for them there," Rab said.

  Rab put the lantern in Amos's hand and put his hand in the older man's back to prod him along, away from the body of his son. Rab found a blanket and covered the body. It disturbed him to see Matthew like that.

  He took down another lantern and took one last look at his charges. He felt a weight of responsibility for them, in part because he accepted that the blame fell on his shoulders, regardless of what Amos Cummings believed.

  There were two clear paths leading from the spring through the cottonwoods, paths created many years ago that allowed the wagon trains to get near to the spring. Hundreds of American emigrants and Spanish explorers had camped here, and before them many thousands of Indians. It was still a favorite spot for the tribes that Rab Sinclair knew. Not long ago, the Arapaho had fought a terrible battle in the area of the Point of Rocks, and for more than a week they celebrated their victory at the spring. White settlers had come upon them and were terrified to find them here, but the Arapaho invited the emigrants to join them in their celebrations. It was an incident still talked about up and down the Trail. But there had also been attacks on settlers here, going back to the first years that the Trail was in use.

  Like so many other places, the Point of Rocks seemed to attract and hold death. A fresh spring at the edge of a desert, men came here in search of life. But some men walked with evil in their hearts. Rab Sinclair knew this was true. And evil men at a place of death will hear the call of violence from the spirits that haunt the place. They are lured by that call and made drunk in their lust for wickedness.

  Pawnee Bill and Mickey Hogg were two such men, and Rab Sinclair knew what they were when he first saw them. They were possessed, both of them, with a lust for wickedness. Mickey Hogg was a cruel man who reveled in blood. He dealt death wherever he went. Pawnee Bill was no different, but the death he dealt was a means to satisfying his foul lechery.

  These were all things that Rab Sinclair knew because he had judged these men at first sight and understood what they were. In judging them, he knew also what their sentences must be. And he knew that he would never reach Santa Fe without executing those sentences. Yet he had allowed himself to be restrained by Amos Cummings, by a misplaced sense of righteousness that could exist only in a place where men are civil and abide by agreed upon rules of conduct. But there was no law in this place, and righteousness belonged to the man who could walk away.

  No act was immoral in a place where simply surviving was the only honorable deed.

  "I should have shot them men when they was caught out crossing the Arkansas River," Rab Sinclair said to himself as he followed the path out of the cottonwoods. This was the way they had come, Rab knew because he had seen them both ride away. But by lantern light he could find no tracks, even among the cottonwoods where the ground was softer.

  He walked well out into the grassland, searching for something that might show him the way. But there was nothing he could see, until at last his light fell on a crumpled form on the ground.

  "Miss Cummings?" he asked out loud, and the sound of his voice made the form jump. It was Paul, the youngest of the Cummings boys.

  "They took her," Paul said. "They rode off with my mother. I ran as far as I could to try to catch them."

  "You come a long ways, boy," Rab said. In years, they were not so distant. Paul was about sixteen years old, maybe fifteen. Just five years younger than Rab. But somehow the boy seemed like a little child to him, and Rab felt a need to comfort him like a father would comfort a child. "Come on back now. We'll hunt for your mother at dawn. They's other work now that we need to do. We need to see about Jeremiah and your pa, and we need to bury Matthew."

  30

  The forest of cottonwoods followed the Dry Cimarron for many miles to the west, all the way into Colorado Territory and the rocky hills and valleys lea
ding into the lower mountains. Farther to the west, the Dry Cimarron had water. If the terrain were not impassible for wagons, it would have been the better route to Santa Fe. A person could follow the Cimarron and have an abundance of water. But the rocky mesas and steep, narrow draws made it an impossible road. So the Santa Fe Trail dropped south and west through the desert where water remained scarce.

  Rab Sinclair's instinct was that Pawnee Bill and Mickey Hogg, mounted on horses and lacking provisions, would stay along the edge of the cottonwoods, keeping to the river valley.

  After finding Paul and taking him back to the campsite where Amos Cummings had already returned with Rebekah Bancroft and her children, Rab wrapped Matthew's body in a blanket. He put the body on a horse and took it to the top of the cliff overlooking the Dry Cimarron valley. Here at the top of the Point of Rocks, Amos Cummings helped Rab Sinclair dig a shallow grave for his son. They buried Graham Devalt beside him, though Rab felt less about that than once when he'd buried a dog that followed him around. Rab had seen no decency in Graham Devalt, though he knew the man was outside of his place.

  "Matthew was a fine man," Rab said to Amos as the first bit of morning light touched the sky above them. They had piled rocks over the grave. "He took to them animals well and cared for them in a way that earned my respect. That may not mean much in a town or at a university, but out here it's all a man can be asked to do."

  "My sons are everything to me," Amos said. His voice caught in his throat, but he'd cried out all the tears he had to give. Rab Sinclair had never before seen a grown man sob so freely, and he was not sure how to think about it. But he felt sorrow for the man. "I brought them here to protect them, and now I have lost one of them."

  "We need to see about your wife," Rab said, broaching the subject carefully.

  "I do not know what to do," Amos said. "I must rely on you."

  "Wait here at the spring," Rab said. "Tend to your wounded. Jeremiah is hurt bad and needs to rest. Mr. Bancroft is not well, either, though he'll recover soon enough. You have food and water to last you a month here. If another wagon train comes through, which is doubtful, you should join up with them and go on to Santa Fe. And then stay there and wait. I will go and find your wife, Mr. Cummings. I cannot promise what those men will do, and I cannot promise you that she will be alive. You should be prepared for that. They are vicious men."

  Amos choked back a sob, staring out into the darkness of the valley below them. "You think she is dead?"

  "I think those men are bad men, Mr. Cummings," Rab Sinclair said. "And there's only one way to know if she is still alive."

  In the light of the lantern at their feet, Rab could see Amos Cummings working out everything in his mind.

  "If you find them, you will kill those men. Won't you?"

  Rab reached into his pocket and took out his tobacco and pipe. He struck a match and lit the pipe and smoked it for a moment. He had to choose his words.

  "They are bad men, Mr. Cummings," Rab said. "They need to be killed. What they've done to your family they will do to others. Have done to others. I ain't a lawman and don't care to act like one. But I believe in doing what's right. I should have killed them already. There's a reason that fourth man didn't do no harm to your family last night. If I'd done for all of them, young Matthew there would be seeing to the animals about now."

  "I stood in your way," Amos Cummings said. "I stopped you from doing the thing you knew you should do."

  Rab blew out a stream of gray smoke that quickly mixed into the darkness and disappeared.

  "I'm my own man. I make my own decisions, and I make my own mistakes. You didn't cause me to do one thing or another. If I picked the wrong path, that's not on your conscience. I'm just sorry you have to suffer. When those men were crossing the Arkansas I had them caught out in front of me. I should have shot them down there and then."

  The two men took the horses that carried the bodies up to the Point of Rocks and descended back down into the valley where the wagons and the rest of the party were.

  Rab gave out instructions quickly. He told Paul to care for the animals. He showed Rachel how to treat Jeremiah's wound.

  "Mr. Bancroft, are you able to think right?" Rab asked.

  "My head is pounding, but I can think right."

  "I want you to take charge of this wagon train." He said it in front of Amos and all the others. "Mr. Cummings is suffering powerful loss, and his wife is missing. He doesn't need to be making decisions for the group. I am leaving to go and find Mrs. Cummings and bring her back here. I do not know how long it will take. Those men have a big jump on me, and they are lost and foolish. Lost and foolish men are more difficult to trail than men who know what they're doing. If you leave out of here on your own, you'll die in the desert. If you have to, you can survive the winter here, but I'll be back before that becomes necessary. Make sure the animals are always ready to go, and keep your water casks full. That way, you can pack and leave quickly if you have to.

  "If another wagon train comes along, join up with them and go to Santa Fe. If you're not here when I get back I will come there looking for you. Keep your guns loaded and be prepared to defend yourselves, either against Indians or emigrants. If you encounter only men with no women and children, do not go with them and do not trust them. If you encounter a wagon train with women and children present, going with them is better than waiting for me."

  Rab looked to Amos Cummings.

  "Do you have any argument with doing what Mr. Bancroft tells you?"

  "I'll do what he tells me," Amos Cummings said. "I am a humbled man."

  "Mr. Bancroft, walk with me to my hawss," Rab said.

  In private, away from the others, Rab said, "Your biggest fear in this place is that Indians will come."

  From his saddlebag, Rab took out a carved pipe. It was longer and more elaborate than the pipe he usually smoked.

  "If you encounter Indians, show them this pipe. There is some small chance that they will know it is mine, and it will be some protection for you. If you show them this pipe and they threaten you, stand tall and do not show any fear. If they attack you, fight back and kill them in any way that you can. Indians are quick to cut their losses. They don't fight to the last. But if you see that you will be overwhelmed, understand that what comes next will be terrible death. Some men would kill their families and themselves before allowing Indians to take them."

  "I could never do any such thing," Stuart Bancroft said.

  Rab Sinclair nodded. "I understand that sentiment. If they take you, you'll find that killing your wife and children and killing yourself would have been far easier than what you were left to endure. That look of fear on your face right now is the one I'm talking about. Don't show Indians that look."

  Stuart Bancroft swallowed hard. "It is an unpleasant conversation."

  "It could be an unpleasant conversation with them Indians, too," Rab said. "We'll hope it don't come to that. It's on you, now, to keep this camp in order. Find work for everyone to do. Especially Mr. Cummings. It's easy in a camp to start to think too much. Nobody needs to come behind me. They won't make it. Nobody needs to wander off for Santa Fe. They won't make it. If you have to, every day make everyone who can put leads on the horses and walk them around to graze them. Anything that keeps them busy. Hunt for elk. Empty the casks and refill them. Whatever jobs you can find. Just keep everyone busy."

  "I'll do that," Stuart said.

  "Keep that pipe on you, too. If you need it in a hurry you don't want to have to go looking for it."

  Rab walked Stuart back to the others, and then he took Rachel by the hand.

  "After I find your mother, I'm coming back here. I've buried my pannier. If a wagon train comes along and your uncle says you're to go with them, then go with them. Don't argue or think that you should wait for me. Take that buckskin and that sorrel with you. Ride 'em if you like. They're both good hawsses, and I need you to care for them. Wait for me in Santa Fe."

  "Thank
you," Rachel said.

  "For what?" Rab asked.

  "For going after my mother."

  Rab nodded. "Look after your pa. He ain't hurt, but his head and his heart are injured. Make him understand he has three children yet to look after. Keep tending to Jeremiah and make him rest and drink water. He will be fine."

  "She will be dead when you find her, won't she?"

  "I cannot know that," Rab said. "And you cannot know that. But whatever I find, the living have to go on living. You have a whole life. Your father, too. Matthew would not want you to die with him, and if your mother is dead, she would not want you to die with her. Your obligation to them is to keep on with life."

  Rachel put her arms around Rabbie Sinclair and held tight to him, squeezing him against her. She put her cheek against his chest. The leather tassels on the back of his buckskin jacket tickled across her arms.

  "How long will you be gone?"

  Rab continued to hold her. He could have stood there like this with her for the rest of his life, and a part of him wanted to.

  "I hope not more than a day or two. They have a jump on me and it may take a while to find them."

  "Are you going to kill them?" Rachel asked.

  "I am," Rab said.

  "Are you afraid?" Rachel asked.

  Rab smiled and kissed her hair. He stepped back away from her and put a foot into Cromwell's stirrup. He gave a hop and bounced into the saddle.

  "This is just a chore," Rab said, still smiling at her. "There's nothing about a chore to be afraid of."

  Following his instinct, Rab rode west, trailing along with the forest of cottonwoods along the valley of the Dry Cimarron. He rode fast to try to make up ground as it was pointless to look for tracks. But he saw signs along the way that made him believe he was moving in the right direction. He first came to a spot not far from the camp where stakes in the ground and clean, fresh-cut ropes showed that the three ruffians had picketed their horses before attacking the camp and then cut the ropes and led them away in a hurry. He passed by fresh horse droppings. When he saw a discarded canteen he reined in and examined it. The water was fresh and clean. The outside of the canteen was clean. Surely this was dropped in a struggle with Martha Cummings. Rab got back in the saddle and continued on.