The Man from Shenandoah

by Marsha Ward

  “Where’s your sister?”

  “She’s helping Mama. I’m ‘posed to tell you that India is coming with us now.”

  Carl groaned. Ida was making good her threat. “Girls!” he exclaimed, and dropped to the ground, leaving the child on the seat.

  He found Ida next to her father’s wagon, doing nothing more needful than rearranging her hair. Silently, he caught her by the wrist and pulled her along with him, out into the meadow, away from the wagons. She didn’t resist him physically, but protested a little with squeaks and squeals as they went along.

  Carl stopped suddenly and spun around to face her, gripping her by the shoulders. “It’s time we stopped the game-playing, Ida. You started it, but I’m ending it my way.” He bent down and kissed her full on the lips. “That’s how I feel about you. My pa arranged our betrothal to suit himself, but I like you a lot, and I reckon I want you for a wife. We can wed once we’re settled in Colorado, but I’m telling you now, you stop picking fights with me!”

  Ida stood rooted to the ground, looking up into Carl’s eyes, and he watched the changing expressions on her face. He waited as she thought over what he had said, still holding her shoulders.

  “I’m sorry I riled you,” she blurted out. “I’ll be a good wife to you.” Ida gave a little gasp and clapped her hand over her mouth. “Carl, why don’t we get married in the town? I know Papa will be much happier, and Mama will be glad to see me married safe.”

  “My pa wants me to ride with him into town in a little while. I’ll see what I can arrange.”

  “Oh, Carl. It’ll be so much fun!” She turned and ran back towards the wagon, and Carl slowly followed, his head reeling and his heart thumping in his chest.

  ~~~

  “Oh, it feels fine to ride this horse again,” Carl said to James as they followed their father and younger brothers into town. “I don’t know as I would favor becoming a freighter for good. I would miss riding.”

  On his other side, Rulon rolled his shoulders, stretching them in a circle. “I’m surely glad I’ve got well enough to ride. Mary gets a bee in her bonnet from time to time, and it’s a relief to get out of the wagon for a while.”

  “The old married man,” James laughed. “Tell me, what makes her so touchy?”

  “Why, she’s making us up another young’un.” Rulon’s grin almost split his face in two.

  “You don’t say! Rulon, who would’ve figured you mended so quick?” James rode his horse up by Rulon and punched him lightly on the shoulder.

  Rulon slugged him back. “Keep your nose wiped, little brother. Your time will come soon enough.”

  James made a growling sound deep in his throat. “I’m none too happy with Pa’s meddling. If it weren’t for Ma, I would have stayed behind. I’ll never see Miss Jessica again.”

  Rulon reached out and patted James’ shoulder. “I’m sorry your plans got thrown away, brother. It’s hard to take leave of such good friends. Our family has to stay together to survive, though. Pa’s right about that.”

  James only grunted and made a dour face.

  ~~~

  Rod Owen pulled his horse to a halt by the tie rail in front of A. G. Boone’s store. He dismounted and waited for his sons to join him before he spoke.

  “Rulon, you take James and Albert and hunt up the law in town. We missed the trading caravans to Santa Fe by a long time, so find out what measures we need to take for safety. Carl and Clay, you come with me. I’ll hunt up Mr. Boone. Your Uncle Jonathan told me to trade with him if ever I got this far west.”

  Rod wrapped his reins around the rail and swung under it, stepping onto the board sidewalk. Carl and Clay followed him, while the other three went off down the street.

  Before entering the store, Carl turned and surveyed the bustling street. Even though the traders were gone, the traffic seemed constant. He glimpsed some soldiers up the street, loading a wagon with supplies, and recalled that his father had mentioned Fort Leavenworth up north a ways.

  Wagons passed the store, narrowly missing each other in the intersection, their drivers yelling obscenities at one another, filling the air with strident shouts. Then the street was empty for a moment, and Carl’s attention was drawn across the street by a group of three men lounging outside a saloon.

  From the loudness of their talk, Carl guessed they had already visited the bar at some length. Two of the men were of average height and weight, wore nondescript trousers and shirt, and had full beards and shaggy hair. The third man was swarthy, tall, and of a powerful build. He wore tight black pants of a cut Carl had never seen before. His shirt was white, topped by a black vest that was embroidered with a light-catching thread. On his head he wore a hat with a wide brim and flat crown. The hat, too, was embroidered—with colored threads in fancy designs. The man’s face was clean-shaven, except for a full-flowing moustache.

  Carl gazed at the man for several seconds, until the dark, fancily dressed man removed the thin black cigar from his mouth, chuckled, and said something amusing to his companions. They laughed, and looked over at Carl, who noticed the whiteness of the big man’s teeth beneath his moustache. I reckon he’s a Mexican, he thought, and turned and entered the store.

  He glanced around the crowded establishment. Three areas of commerce—dry goods, hardware, and groceries—shared the room, crowding the shelves and aisles. Pa was headed for the hardware counter, where a solidly built redhead in his fifties minded the store. Clay looked like he was enjoying himself browsing through the dry goods section, and Carl joined him.

  Rod stopped at the counter. “I’m looking for A. G. Boone. You be him?”

  “I am not. Mr. Boone is out to lunch. I am his clerk, Samuel P. Flaherty, at your service.”

  “Well, it ain’t anything you can’t handle, I reckon.” Rod looked around the empty store. “You don’t have much business today.”

  “It’s the lunch hour. If you want to see business, sir, stick around until the end of the month when the traders return. Then you’ll see business!” Mr. Flaherty bobbed his head in anticipation.

  “I don’t plan to stay that long. I’m here for provisions. That’s my list. Can you fill it?” Rod put a bit of paper on the counter.

  The man took up the list and peered at it. “Surely. If we don’t have it, you don’t need it.” He looked up at Rod. “You going far?”

  “We have kin west of here,” Rod answered warily.

  “Well, I wouldn’t presume to ask, except if you’re going to the Colorado Territory, you’d better check your supply of guns, powder, and lead.”

  “Is that a fact?”

  “Yes, sir. The Indians are on the warpath out there. Seems some militia colonel named Chivington wiped out a bunch of Cheyenne and Arapahoe at Sand Creek last winter, and three or four tribes took exception to the action. They’re raiding all the way from the Platte to the Arkansas, and on east into Kansas.” Mr. Flaherty stopped to pull some cans from the shelf. “Indians favor sneaking up on a body when they attack. It’s almost like they’re invisible until they’re on top of you.” The clerk scratched his chin.

  “Dangerous fellows,” said Rod.

  “Yes sir. I see you’re not wearing handguns. Handguns are right handy to have when an Indian is five feet away and swinging a hatchet at your head. I expect you’re a rifle man, yourself. Well, a rifle’d just get in the way with an enemy so close and set on revenge. Some of them don’t care if they lives or dies, just so their kinfolks is avenged.”

  “You don’t say.”

  “But I do say. If I was you, I would outfit my entire party with handguns, belts, and holsters. That’s if I was you and going out to the Colorado Territory.” Mr. Flaherty folded his arms and leaned forward on the counter.

  Rod looked at the clerk, waiting there for a sale. He said nothing, but tucked his chin into his chest for a moment, then moved over to the dry goods section of the store.

  Carl had spent his time admiring the clothes on display on the counter. There was
a pair of blue jean trousers, waist overalls, that would suit him fine. He wished he had a couple of coins to rub together, or better yet, to spend on new trousers.

  His father looked around for Clay, who had moved over to examine the candy counter. He saw Carl looking at the trousers, and approached him.

  “They would look mighty nice, son, and you surely do need them, but I can’t spare the cash right now. If what the clerk says is right, looks like we’ll be needing handguns worse than a change of clothes.” Rod looked chagrined. “I was hoping to get a little keepsake for your ma, but I reckon our safety comes before trinkets.”

  “Trouble on the trail, Pa? Outlaw?”

  “Indians. Somebody broke a treaty, and the whole east part of Colorado Territory is running with blood. We might have to fight our way in.” Rod grinned and winked. “Don’t mention it to Rand Hilbrands. He’s not much for fighting.”

  “Now, Pa,” Carl responded. “Mr. Hilbrands ain’t so bad. I don’t reckon he’s a cowardly sort. He just spent the whole war behind a store counter, and didn’t get the chance to harden up like we did.”

  “That’s so. And he saw a right smart lot of Yankees going up and down the Valley, but he sometimes wears my patience mighty thin.”

  “Pa, speaking of the Hilbrands, don’t you think we could rustle up a preacher in this town so Ida ‘n me can get married?”

  Rod looked sharply at Carl. “Are you sparking on that wagon seat, boy?”

  “I’m driving. Ida does the sparking.” Carl grinned. “It’s time I got wed, Pa.”

  “I’ll see what I can do. It’s surely a shame that preacher never came around back home. He put a bad crimp in my plan.” Rod gripped Carl’s shoulder and turned away toward the counter where Flaherty was loading his order into a couple of emptied grain sacks. “What are you asking for a handgun set?” he asked the clerk. “I might be persuaded that I’m interested if the price is right.”

  “Well now, we’ve got a mighty nice piece of goods for twenty-five dollars, complete with belt and holster. It’s an Army model 1860 by Colt, .44 caliber with six shots. It’s your standard percussion cap revolver, ain’t been used much. Twenty-five dollars, ammunition extra.” He brought out a big revolver for Rod to examine.

  “If it saw action in the war, it’s been used more than a mite.” Rod looked it over, checking the cylinder and the heft of the nearly three pound gun in his hand. “You got any more like this?”

  “Some. The Army dumped them on the market a while back, and they’ve been selling good.”

  “Let me have my pick of six pistols, you throw in the belts, holsters, and a thousand rounds of shot, with caps and powder enough to shoot them, and I’ll give you a hundred dollars, Federal cash.”

  “Done!” said Mr. Flaherty.

  ~~~

  “Hallelujah, Pa! You got me a gun!” Albert’s voice cracked in his excitement. “You really got me a gun, a humdinger. Thanks, Pa.” The boy lifted the pistol in two hands, sighted down the barrel, then put it back into his holster.

  “Albert, we’re likely to run into some trouble up the road. I expect you to learn to use that pistol, but it’s for protection. I won’t stand for gun play. Don’t forget that!”

  “No, Pa, I surely won’t. Boy, wait until I show this to Andy. His eyes will pop out of his head.”

  Rulon hitched his gun belt to a more comfortable position. “It feels strange, Pa. I’m more at home with a rifle.”

  “Rulon, it’s mighty handy to have a weapon strapped on with enemies coming right at you. Mr. Flaherty spoke of Indian raids in the Territory. If we aim to find your Uncle Jonathan, we’ll need guns at hand, I reckon.” Rod hitched up his own belt.

  James swung into his saddle, and retrieved his pistol as it slipped loose. “Pa, how do I keep the revolver from falling out of the holster when I’m mounting, or jogging loose as I ride?”

  “Look at this thong, here. Loop it over the hammer, and the gun will stay in there real snug. If you expect trouble, just slip off the loop, and you’re ready.”

  James fixed the rawhide thong as Rod had directed, then kneed his horse into the street. He cantered down a block, dodging wagons, then waited for a clear moment and returned at a gallop.

  He pulled up before his father and brother, checked his pistol, and declared, “That works right fine.”

  Rod caught Carl’s arm and spoke confidentially. “I found a preacher, son. He’s willing to speak your wedding words this evening.”

  “That’s good, Pa.”

  “See if you can talk James into marrying Miss Ellen, too.”

  Carl nodded and got on his horse. “Pa, I reckon I’ll ride ahead and give Ida the news. She’ll be happy to hear it.”

  “I’ll go with you,” Rulon volunteered. Rod and the others mounted their horses, and rode out of Kansas town in a cloud of dust.

  As they completed the first mile of their ride back to camp, they heard gunfire and rode forward cautiously. Before them in the road, the big Mexican with the fine clothes trotted his horse in a circle, shooting his gun and laughing, while his two cronies followed him, enclosing three young women, who huddled together in fright.

  Carl and Rulon, ahead of the other men, looked at each other, anger darkening their features.

  “That’s Marie, and Ellen Bates,” Rulon shouted.

  “And Ida Hilbrands,” finished Carl.

  Chapter 7

  Carl spurred his horse into the midst of the rowdies, knocking the guns from the hands of two of them before Rulon arrived. As he whirled Sherando to face the man in the black vest, Carl saw the gun pointed at his chest.

  “Do not be foolish, señor,” Black-Vest warned him. “I shoot very fast, and I do not miss.” He drew back his lips in what passed for a smile, and his teeth, white beneath his moustache, seemed large as headstones.

  The other Owen men arrived, and noting the gun covering Carl, sat their horses in stolid silence, hands held carefully in sight. The two bearded men dismounted and retrieved their pistols, laughing as they brought them to bear on the Owen party. One man stepped backward and tried to caress Marie’s cheek with his free hand. Marie shrank back and cried out.

  Ellen’s eyes went dark and glittering, and she snapped at the big Mexican, “What kind of cowards are you, picking on girls and honest men?”

  Black-Vest’s smile vanished. “Coward! You will see that Berto Acosta is not a coward. I withdraw my gun.” He holstered the weapon and lifted his hands. “Now you see I am no coward. Joven! You with the quick temper. Let us see if your hand is as quick as your anger.” He motioned to Carl to try to outdraw him.

  Carl shrugged his shoulders. “I can’t beat you. I just got the gun today.”

  “Ah,” said Acosta. “But when a man puts on a gun he must be prepared to use it. What do we do now?” His hand dropped toward his gun.

  “You’re still a coward, or you’d let us go,” Ellen hissed.

  “That little one has fire,” Acosta said, then leaned over to stroke Ida’s blonde curls, “but I choose this white little goddess.”

  “No you don’t!” shouted Carl, looking at Ida’s chalky face. “I can’t meet you with guns, but I sure can beat you with my bare hands!”

  “A champion,” laughed Acosta, baring his teeth. “Mis amigos,” he addressed his friends, “we will have here a fine contest, and all will know I am no coward. If he wins, they will all go free.” He threw back his head and laughed a long time. “But I will win, and then we shall enjoy the spoils!”