Seth told the proprietress of a boarding house that we were on our honeymoon; that lie plus a hundred-dollar tip got the present tenant evicted and us installed in a room. We plotted our strategy: I would ask about Boris and Gabrielle, the ‘Andersons,’ in the various rooming houses and hotels, and Seth would haunt the saloons and tent games. We would meet in the evening to exchange information.
We discovered that the Andersons really had come to Independence. They had stayed at the Clark Hotel near the river, a truly ramshackle establishment. Boris’ luck at cards must have been very bad. But they had given up their tenancy after only a few days because of a quarrel with the landlady. I wasn’t surprised at that; I had her pegged as a thief from the moment I laid eyes on her. From there they seemed to have moved to a tent near the north edge of town. Boris must have restrained his impulse to gamble. Seth couldn’t find any signs that he had wagered so much as a dollar on a horse race or taken part in any games, be they poker, nickel-toss, or faro.
A week passed and we did not find them. Worse, we had no place else to look. We had turned Independence upside down, quizzed every would-be miner, every card sharp and faro dealer, every hotel worker and tart. Where had they gone?
Then finally we heard that a wagon train had left Independence two weeks earlier, only a week after Boris and Gabrielle had arrived in town. One of the two men who owned one of the wagons was killed in a fight, and his partner had lost heart and sold his wagon and team and all his equipment. The purchaser had been a thin man with blond hair. He had a wife, who was small and dark. Boris and Gabrielle.
Trying to find decent horses in Independence was harder than finding an honest woman in a whorehouse, Seth said. Just to hire two horses for a few hours so that we could go out of town to look over some Indian ponies we had heard about cost us seventy-five dollars, and even then I had to leave my valise behind as a gesture of good faith. The horses we saw were Indian only by their association with their swarthy, black-haired captors, who had snatched them off the plains only a few weeks before. I had never seen such wild beasts. They seemed maddened by their captivity and they raged at their confinement in pens. I sympathized. Other buyers came to look and went away within minutes, shaking their heads.
“Those devil’s ’ll kill you, son," one man told Seth. “You can’t git nearer ’n twenty feet to ’em! They’re plum crazy!"
“He’s right," Seth said bleakly. “I could try to break them, but with the shape I’m in it could take weeks. Damn. We need at least three of them. I’d only need one if you weren’t along—"
“No," I said automatically. My eyes were shining and I warmed to the challenge. “I will have them ready, the three best, in three days. I can do it: three horses, three days!"
“Ready for what?” he wondered. “The buzzards?”
“Ready to ride, of course,” I said patiently as if I were talking to a child. “Let’s see.” I looked them over. “I’ll take that little mare right over there, the roan. I shall call her Fire, to commemorate our trip on the Delta Belle. See how she shines in the sun? And you, dear husband, should have that black stallion, the biggest one. He will be Blaze.”
“You can call them what you like. But it doesn’t mean you’ll be able to ride them.” He turned and limped away from the paddock.
“You have no faith in me!” I called after him reproachfully. I asked one of the impassive Indians for a length of rope. I sat on the top rail of the fence and made a coil. Then I began to sing a soft, come-hither tune. I kept my eyes on the black stallion and I beckoned to him. He caught my look and stood stock still, watching me warily. I dropped down into the arena inside the fence and approached him slowly, very slowly, speaking to him all the while in Romany, the language of the Gypsies and the one human tongue that horses everywhere understand. I clucked and sang and I swung a loop of rope slowly and regularly, mesmerizing him.
“Rhawnie, come back here!” Seth shouted. I heard a gabble of masculine voices. A Mexican said, “Loca.” Seth ordered me again to come back. I didn’t answer them. To bark back a reply would have broken my spell over the horse. So I ignored them. What did the gorgio know about horses? About anything?
“Blaze, Blaze, brave horse,” I sang in Romany. “I am your friend. Come, Blaze. Come.”
He quivered and pawed the dusty ground. When I was ten feet away from him I held out my hands to show him that they were part of my body. If I brought them out of nowhere to touch him, he would be frightened. The loop of rope swung rhythmically and I never stopped my talking. His eyes were wide and wary, but he wasn’t frightened.
At five feet I lifted the rope as high as his head but kept moving it. In my left hand I held a lump of sugar, purloined from the breakfast table that morning for just such a purpose. He sniffed it, licked it, and I slid the rope over his head and tightened it ever so slightly.
He started and pranced away, and I let him go until the rope was played out. I kept speaking to him in reassuring tones: Dear Blaze, good horse, good friend. I am Rhawnie, Queen of the Gypsies. I am your friend. I led him around me in an ever-tightening circle. The distance between us narrowed until my shoulder touched his withers.
I boosted myself up on his back and straddled him. He was so surprised that he stood frozen for half a minute, trying to decide what to do next. Should he rear? Should he pitch me off? But I was his friend. It was very confusing for him. I laughed at him fondly and called him pet names, then I kicked his sides and made up his mind for him. I told him that what he really wanted to do was run. That sounded like a good idea to Blaze. After dancing and bouncing a little, he reared up and kicked his feet in the air. I clung fast to his mane and the rope around his neck. When he came down he bolted straight at the fence where all the men had gathered to watch.
"Up, up,” I urged him. I hoped he wasn’t silly enough to think he could run right through that fence. But I should have trusted Blaze. He put on a burst of speed, tucked his legs up and cleared that fence with a foot to spare. I laughed aloud and when we were at the zenith of our leap I looked down. The men had scattered, shouting. Blaze and I hovered in the air for the merest fraction of a second, and I saw their amazed faces looking up at me. Seth’s was among them. I was flying, really flying at last. My old dream had come true.
We raced across the barren fields outside the paddock. Free together. I let Blaze run until he slowed of his own will. That meant he was tiring. Then I kicked him and made him gallop faster, faster. I suppose he thought that if he ran fast enough he could run right out from under me. But finally all his pent-up energy was spent, as was his anger and frustration. I turned him and we cantered sedately back to the others.
After that it was easy. I showed him a saddle and we walked around and around it until he knew it as a harmless dead thing. He didn’t resist when I put it on his back. He didn’t like the bridle, but I could understand that. I would have hated it, too. By sunset he was mine, my friend and my servant. He trusted me and he knew I would not betray him.
I made sure that he was well-fed, then it was time to go back to town. I felt exhilarated by the workout and delighted with my success. You would have thought that Seth would have been excited, too. But he just looked sour and said,
“Don’t you think one of us should guard him tonight? Someone will try to steal him."
“A thief wouldn’t have a very easy time,“ I said wearily, swinging myself into the saddle of my rented horse. “He doesn’t trust anybody but me. He’ll kill anyone who comes near him."
“Like a well-trained guard dog," Seth remarked.
“Yes. Before we leave you’ll have to show them that you are a friend, too. Bring some sugar for them tomorrow and I’ll show you how."
We rode back to Independence in silence. When we got back to our tiny room Seth stretched out on the little bed. He acted like he had had a very wearing day. I stripped to the waist and splashed some cold water from the pitcher into our washbowl. I was too exhausted to care about covering myself up i
n front of him. If he wanted to be as silent as a chair, then I would treat him like one.
“Why do you hate it when I show you that I can do things?” I asked him. I looked up and our eyes met in the cracked glass that hung over the washstand. I scrubbed my face and neck. “It’s true, isn’t it?” I went on. His expression didn’t change. “In the old days I was your slave, your puppet. You allowed me to play cards and make love, but that’s all you wanted me to do. You didn’t want me to know anything that you didn’t teach me, like how to read and write.” I bent over the basin and sloshed water on my face. “It made you angry when I tried to be independent. I think it’s interesting that you wouldn’t have anything to do with me after I got pregnant. And then, when you saw me with that baby in my arms, you hated me because I had another human being to love and I didn’t need you any more. And so you ran away, to punish me. To show me how much I needed you.”
His face was pale and grim, but still he did not speak. I should have stopped right there, but I felt annoyed because he hadn’t given me a single word of praise, or even thanks, for finding a solution to our need for horses. I think, too, that I wanted to see how far I could push him.
“It nearly killed you when you saw me in New Orleans, didn’t it?” I said, shaking the water off my hands and reaching for a towel. “Not so much because I’d managed to get myself engaged to your brother, but because I had survived Vienna. And not only had I survived, but I had become a great lady without your help." He gave a snort at that. I rubbed my face and chest with the towel and turned around to look at him. I held the towel over my breasts and leaned back against the washstand. “I was a great lady and a great artist. My success as a singer rankled, didn’t it? You couldn’t even sit through my concert. Your dirty little Gypsy had blossomed into a beautiful butterfly. She didn’t need you. She didn’t need anyone. You hated me for not failing, didn’t you?”
“That’s enough, Rhawnie,” he said softly. There was a dangerous light in his eyes but I ignored it.
“And now we come to this business with the horses. Why are you angry with me? Are you humiliated because I showed the world that I knew more about horses than you did? It’s no disgrace. I know more about them than most people. But you don’t want me to have any skills that you didn’t teach me. Playing cards. Making love. That’s all I’m good for in your mind. You haven’t changed. You still want life on your own terms, everything in your own time, your own way. I pity you. You’re not like Steven; you haven’t—”
He sprang off the bed and lunged at me. I stumbled against the washstand. The pitcher and bowl slid off and smashed on the floor. He put his hands on my throat and pressed so tightly that I couldn’t catch my breath. I shouldn’t have pushed him, I thought with regret. Now he is going to kill me and everything I’ve done will have been for nothing. My eyes bulged at him. His face, so full of anger and loathing grew clouded and indistinct, then it disappeared altogether. The pressure on my throat eased and I slumped to the floor.
The next thing I knew, I was on my back and he was on top of me. He shoved my thighs apart and drove his great angry bludgeon deep up inside of me. He pounded at me furiously, as if by hurting me like that he could drive away the things I had said to him and chase them into oblivion like so many evil vapors. In two minutes he was finished. He was panting and sweating. His breath on my face felt like a searing wind that dries the land and kills everything that grows. I pressed my forearm over my eyes so that I couldn’t look at him. Finally he withdrew and stood up.
“You’ve got me where you want me,” I said thickly. “Why don’t you throw in a kick or two for good measure, just so I’ll know you’re a real man.”
“Damn you,” he whispered. He limped towards the door and went out.
I opened my eyes and sat up. I ached in every part of my body. First a wild stallion, and now this. And I didn’t know but that Seth was stronger and wilder than that horse.
He didn’t come back that night. The next morning I took my things and went out to the paddock. I would sleep on the ground and eat hay rather than stay with Seth.
The other two horses presented no real problems. Fire was a fine mare, strong and spirited, and the third horse I chose, whom I called Venus, was a fairly passive little mare who would be a good pack and relief horse. Two mares and a stallion is a safer combination than two stallions and a mare. I knew that from experience.
Seth turned up on the morning of the fourth day, when he knew my work with the horses would be finished. He brought supplies and gear for a long trip over prairies and mountains. He informed me that we would be leaving at once. I had made no preparations for myself. I wanted to buy a few things like shirts, trousers, abroad-brimmed hat and a warm coat, if I could find one. I told him coolly that I wouldn’t be ready to leave for another day.
“That’s too bad,” he said. “I can’t wait that long.” He picked up a saddle and moved towards Blaze.
“You can use the time while I’m away to show the horses that you are a friend,” I advised him.
He gave an unbelieving sniff and proceeded to saddle Blaze for the trip. The big horse took it well enough until Seth lifted himself into the saddle, then he reared and bucked as though a demon possessed him. Seth flew through the air and landed hard at my feet in the dust. I had no wish to laugh at his stubbornness.
“You’d save yourself a lot of broken bones if you do as I say,” I remarked. “You’ll just have to break him all over again, and believe me, he’s even more stubborn than you are.” I caught Blaze and spoke soothingly to him, then led him over to where Seth was standing and brushing himself off. “This man is a friend. Blaze,” I said in Romany. “He is a monster and a beast sometimes, but then so are you, eh? I have seen him with horses and know he understands them and loves them. He will be a good friend to you.” You might laugh and say that Blaze didn’t understand any of this, but horses are no fools. He snorted and blew out his breath noisily.
“Well,” I turned to Seth, “did you bring him anything? A treat?”
“No.” He looked bruised and sullen. He had taken a hard toss.
“Give him this then.” I dug in the pockets of my skirt for some sugar. “Talk to him for an hour or so, walk with him, and give it another try. If he trusts you he will let you ride. Then do the same with the other two. It won’t be so hard because they are not so smart as this one. I’ll be back before you’re ready to go at sunrise.”
“I gave up our room,” he said. “You won’t have any place to sleep.”
“I can take care of myself.” I walked away without looking at him again.
I spent the night on the prairie, not five hundred feet away from where he lay sleeping. But he didn’t know that. When I appeared at dawn he said nothing. He probably thought I had bedded half the men in Independence and even taken money for it. What did I care? I hadn’t come all that way just to prove to him that I loved him. I had come for Gabrielle’s sake. Well, hadn’t I?
We rode out and forded the Missouri River just as the sun was beginning to spread its orange glow across the horizon. I rode Fire, he was mounted on Blaze. He didn’t speak to me, I didn’t speak to him. It promised to be a thrilling journey. Before we had gone five miles I decided that I would turn back: I couldn’t endure his moods another minute.
But that was just what he wanted, to be rid of me. I couldn’t give him the satisfaction. And so I kept my mouth closed and my eyes glued to the trail in front of us.
17
We Cross the Great Plains
WE CROSSED THE immense prairie in early March, in torrential rains. Deafening thunder crashed around us. Lightning shimmered and flashed, and at night it illuminated the whole bleak landscape so that we could see for miles, as if in daylight. Nothing disturbed the horses, though, not storms or mud or fierce winds. They were tough and strong, and we nearly always tired before they did.
Seth pushed us relentlessly. We had learned that the wagon train we were following was under the leaders
hip of a man named Murray, who had taken half a dozen parties across the plains to California. The route Murray always took was the northernmost one, along the Platte River to Fort Laramie and through the Rocky Mountains at South Pass. Seth seemed to know just where these places were. The wagon train had a little less than a month’s head start or about one hundred and fifty miles. Assuming they could do twenty miles a day, which Seth doubted. Seth and I, travelling lightly with only a single packhorse and no cumbersome wagon, could easily manage thirty-five or more miles a day without overtaxing the horses.
His sullen silence soon gave way to the most unbearably autocratic behavior. From the outset I took care of the horses at the end of the day, because I much preferred their company to his. I fed and watered and groomed them at night, and I spoke to each one in turn and praised it for a good day’s work.
The rains had driven most of the small game under cover, and for the first week Seth and I lived on dried meat and the supplies we had brought from Independence.
One night, after a particularly wearing day on the trail, I finished with the horses and then joined Seth at the campfire.
“What’s for supper tonight?“ I asked jokingly. “Squab under glass?”
He was smoking, lying on his back. “Whatever you decided to fix,” he said lazily.
“Me!” I straightened up fast. “I’ve just spent the past hour with the horses! Why don’t you shoot something? It could have been cooking all this time.”
“You take the rifle and see what you can find,” he suggested.
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