Jerusalem heard the cry of the horse and knew that Kern Herendeen was not a man who was able to drop things easily. He wanted to hold things, and once he had them, he wouldn’t let them go. That was the reason she wouldn’t marry him. Jake had not held her at all, but she knew it’d be just as bad for a man who wanted to possess her wholly.
Stepping inside the house, she started toward her room and then suddenly halted abruptly. Clay was sitting at the table watching her. “You’re still up,” she said.
“Still up.” He got up and walked over to stand before her.
He had something in his hand, but she could not make out what it was.
He said nothing, but Jerusalem knew he had been hurt. “I didn’t mean to put you down, Clay.” She wanted to say more, and finally she found the words to express what was in her heart. “No man in this world has ever treated me better than you. Certainly not Jake. I want you to know that every day I thank God for how you’ve helped me and my family.”
Clay looked down at the object in his hand, then held it up. Jerusalem saw that it was something oblong, wrapped in a piece of newspaper.
Clay hesitated, then said quietly, “I guess I don’t know the right words to say to a woman like you. I wish I was a little bit better with them, but I love you better than life, Jerusalem.” He removed the paper and handed Jerusalem a perfectly shaped rose of a striking yellow color.
“I saw this rose, Jerusalem, and it made me think of you for some reason.
So beautiful—” He broke off and could not seem to find the words to finish.
For all his toughness, at that moment Clay seemed to Jerusalem to have a gentle spirit, and a tender love filled her heart for him. Taking the rose, Jerusalem held it in her hand. When she looked up, she saw the depth of his love for her in his eyes, and it stirred her. “Thank you, Clay.
It was thoughtful of you to bring it to me—and I’m glad you see something of it in me.”
Clay did not move. He was so still that Jerusalem wondered what he was thinking. His eyes were fixed on her, and she wanted him to break the silence.
Finally, he said, “I’m through chasing you, Jerusalem. If you want me, I’ll be true to you until the day I die. If you choose Kern, I’ll always be a friend to you and to your children and to your grandchildren. You’ll always be able to count on me.”
He turned and walked away rapidly, his steps echoing on the wooden floor. He ascended the stairway, and Jerusalem stood there. Clay’s open expression of love shocked her, and she felt tears gather in her eyes. She held the rose and savored the delicate fragrance, then touched it with her lips. At that moment she wanted to weep and had to struggle to keep the sobs back. She could not tell why Clay’s simple gesture had touched her, but she knew that something had happened this night that had changed everything.
CHAPTER
FIFTEEN
Clay and Zane did not urge their horses along but loitered behind the twenty head of bellowing longhorns that raised a cloud of fine dust in front of them. They had strayed over to the east, and the two men had searched for them during the early morning hours and now were headed back with them toward the main herd.
Clay had been silent for most of the day, and Zane finally asked, “What’s the matter with you, Clay? You ain’t talked as much as a rock for days now.”
“Guess I just don’t have much to say, Zane.”
Zane grinned. He did not speak for a while but lounged in his saddle, then said, “A man in love is a peculiar creature. He will do mighty strange things.”
Clay shot him an irritated glance and said, “I hope you get it so bad some day you can’t walk straight, Zane.”
“Not likely. A man that’s escaped marriage for thirty-eight years has got a good chance of makin’ it all the way through without all the aggravation of married life.”
Clay did not answer, for he suddenly straightened in the saddle.
“Look over there,” he said abruptly. He lifted his hand and pointed to a slight cloud of dust.
Zane followed his gesture and said, “Can you make out what they are?”
“Well, they ain’t Comanches. They’re ridin’ too slow for that.”
The two men kept their eyes on the approaching horsemen, and Clay said, “I can’t quite make ’em out. They don’t have any cattle, but I don’t know what they’re doing here.” He pulled his horse up, and Zane followed, ignoring the longhorns. As the horsemen approached, Clay murmured quietly, “They look like they’re about done in.”
As the men came within a hundred yards, it was obvious that their horses were exhausted, and Clay noted quickly that two men were riding with a third between them, holding him up. The leader was a tall man, who was eyeing them cautiously.
“Howdy,” Clay said. “It looks like you had some trouble.”
“I reckon we have,” the leader said. He pulled his horse up and shook his head. “These hosses are about done in.” He studied his companions and then said, “My name’s Frank Dalton. This here’s a ranging company.”
Both Zane and Clay had heard of men like this. Sam Houston, not being able to afford to pay much, had persuaded some of the tougher citizens of Texas to serve without pay. They were simply called “ranging companies,” and this group looked like they had been used almost beyond their limits.
“I’m Clay Taliferro, and this is Zane Satterfield. Our place is down the way about three miles. Why don’t you bring your men in, Captain, and rest your mounts.”
“My sister’s pretty good at doctorin’,” Zane added. “I see you’ve got a wounded man there.”
“That sounds right promisin’ to me,” Dalton said. There was a weariness in his face, and he said, “We’ll limp on in. Could use a little rest.”
Dalton kept his mount even with Zane and Clay, and as they followed the longhorns, Clay said, “What sort of chase you been on, Captain?”
“Sam Houston sent us to chase the Comanches up north. They been raidin’ real bad out to the west of here.”
“It looks like you caught up with ’em,” Zane said, glancing back at the battered men. “What happened?”
“We ran into an ambush,” Dalton said glumly. “It’s a wonder any of us got our scalps. It was about fifty of them, and they had us pinned down in an arroyo. I guess they finally ran out of ammunition. They was mostly shootin’ arrows there at the last. We were lucky they didn’t get our hosses.
We couldn’t have walked out of that one.”
Zane was pensive and toyed with the reins of his horse as he thought about the report. “Comanches are about the most fearsome Indians there is, I reckon. At least so I hear. Clay here saw some Sioux and Cheyenne.
They’re pretty bad, too.”
“As far as pure meanness, I guess the Comanches might be a little worse,” Dalton said. “The worst one is Bear Killer.”
“I’ve heard of him,” Zane nodded. “A pretty bad Indian.”
“The worst I ever saw. The ranch here is right on the border. You’d better keep an eye out for him, although it’s hard to keep an eye out for Comanches.”
Dalton fell silent then, whether from weariness or a natural taciturnity, the two men could not figure. They did not attempt to draw him out anymore, for it was obvious he was running on nerve.
Jerusalem and Moriah had busied themselves at once when Clay explained the situation with the rangers. “Bring all of them right on in,” she said. “Moriah and me can feed them, and I’ll do what I can to patch up any of them that’s hurt.”
The group of rangers had gotten off their horses wearily, and Brodie had seen to it that the animals were fed and watered. He had come in afterward, saying, “Captain Dalton, them horses is about done in. I watered ’em and fed ’em. Don’t see how you can get much farther on ’em, though.”
“I guess we’ll try to make it into Jordan City and fort up there for a while.”
He turned to Jerusalem, who was bandaging the bullet wound in the arm of one of the rangers. She fi
nished fastening the bandage and said, “You keep that clean, and it won’t give you any trouble.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” the ranger said gratefully. He winced as he lifted his arm and said, “I’m glad it was a bullet instead of an arrowhead like poor old Gabe.”
The ranger named Gabe had been struck with an arrow in the back, and removing it had required painful surgery. Clay and Zane had held the man down while Jerusalem had dug it out. The man had mercifully passed out, and now he was sleeping fitfully. “I may have given him a bit too much of that pain killer,” Jerusalem said.
“I’m glad you had it, Mrs. Hardin,” Captain Dalton said. “As a matter of fact, I don’t know if we could have made it into Jordan City without you. We’re mighty grateful to you.”
“It’s the least we can do.” Jerusalem smiled. “We’re very thankful that you and your men are helping to keep the Indians away from us.”
“I don’t know how much good we’re doing with that. There ain’t enough of us, and trying to pin a Comanche down is like trying to pin a sunbeam down.”
Brodie had been fascinated by the men. He had talked with several of them who, as they ate, were willing enough to describe their mission.
Brodie now turned and said, “Captain Dalton, what does a man have to do to join up with you?”
Dalton suddenly laughed. It was a harsh laugh, but not an unkind one. “Well, son, first I reckon you have to be crazy.”
Brodie stared at him. “Crazy? Why did you say that?”
“Well, it’s a hard and dangerous life. The money is nothing to brag about, and you can lose your scalp. You’d be better off to become a barber.”
“A barber!” Brodie snorted. “Not likely, Captain.”
Clay, who was across the room standing beside Jerusalem, said, “I’d better disillusion that boy about becomin’ an Indian fighter. There ain’t no profit in it.”
“Talk to him, Clay. I can’t afford to lose any more boys.”
At the very moment Jerusalem had been taking the arrow out of the wounded man, Moriah was being kissed in Leonard Pennington’s office. She had gone to town to get supplies along with Clinton and had stopped by to visit with Leonard. He had been extremely glad to see her, as he always was, and for a time they had talked about the dance that was coming up. Her eyes had widened when she saw him step closer with a determination in his eyes that she had seen before. He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her, holding her tight, and she clung to him, savoring his caress. After a moment, he lifted his head and grinned. “I like a woman who’s got a little tiger in her.”
“You shouldn’t say things like that, Len!”
“Why, it’s true enough. It’s what drew me to you in the first place,” he said. He still kept his arms around her, and his hands ran up and down her back, sending slight shivers through her.
She liked him very much and knew that he was teasing her. “I hope I’ll be a good wife to you.”
“You will be. I have no doubt about that.” He released her and said, “I got a letter here from my folks. They want you to come and visit in St.
Louis. You’ve got to meet my family. I know they’ll love you.”
Moriah was apprehensive about meeting Len’s family. They were prominent people, and she felt totally inadequate to be thrust into their social circles. Tentatively, she said, “Len, why don’t you stay here? You could do great things here in Texas.”
“Why, Texas isn’t even part of the Union. They may never get in.
The way John Quincy Adams is fighting it, it looks that way. Jackson has got more of a vision. He wants Texas because he sees it as a doorway all the way to the Pacific Ocean. That’s what he wants. Sam Houston feels the same way. But the northern states will never let it happen. They’re too afraid of slavery spreading. So, I’ve got to get out of here, and you’ve got to come with me.”
He continued to speak to her in this fashion, and Moriah was happy that he was so open with her. Finally, when he kept pressuring her, she said, “Maybe I could go to St. Louis and meet your family.”
At her words Len brightened up. He pulled her into his arms and kissed her again. “I love you, Moriah,” he said with intensity. “There’s nothing that could change me. I’ll always love you.”
“That’s all I want,” Moriah whispered. “Just always love me, Len. It doesn’t matter where we live as long as you love me.”
Clay sat beside the creek not moving, but staring rather dully into the river as it flowed by. The Brazos was not an impressive river like the broad Mississippi nor like the Colorado in the mountains to the north that had its own wild, spectacular beauty. The Brazos did bring life with it. Without it there would be nothing but a barren desert.
Overhead a bald eagle soared, and Clay lifted his head to watch the magnificent bird. He loved the predators, the eagles and the hawks and the falcons, and had often thought if he were a bird, he would want to be one of these.
The river made a sibilant murmur at his feet, but the surface was still and smooth. The water seemed to be almost standing still, but it was moving inexorably toward the Gulf, draining the land and bringing life wherever it touched.
Clay glanced suddenly downstream and saw a timber wolf that had caught a frog and was gulping it down. He stared at the rangy animal and admired the strength and the sagacity that wolves had. “Enjoy your frog, boy,” he said. The wolf heard his voice, took one look, and then dashed off back toward the trees on the far side of the river.
Clay had come out to the river to think and to get away from things. It was a habit long ingrained in him. That was what he had loved most about the mountains, the solitude. A man could sit down and wouldn’t have to be apprehensive that somebody would interrupt him—unless it was an Indian, which might mean a fatal interruption. But it had been quiet there, and he had spent long hours enjoying the natural beauty of the wilderness. Coming back to civilization was like coming out of the silence of the open spaces into a noisy, bustling crowd of people inside a small room. He knew this was why he loved Texas, because of the immense space that stretched for miles on end. He had never been a town man, and the silence and the enormous space that filled the country pleased him and gave him a sense of freedom.
Of late, however, he had been thinking of moving on. He had spoken often of this in jest, but now, more than half in earnest, he had considered going to California to look for gold or return to the north country to join the trappers again. He knew that kind of life was mostly over, but he remembered the good parts of it. His mind and heart were both troubled by a loneliness that he had never known before. Always before, people had been around, and he could take them or walk away from them. But Jerusalem Hardin had made a place inside of him that he could not shake off. Indeed, he had tried to put her aside. The struggle between him and Kern Herendeen had been a challenge for him, but he was tired of it. There were longings in him that he could not identify. He remembered times when he was traveling through the country at night and would sight a cabin with a light inside. The sound of happy voices—laughing, and speaking with love and intensity—would make him feel an emptiness inside. Many times he had paused, sitting on his horse outside in the darkness and in the silence, and had simply listened. During these times a longing had developed that only this past year had come to bother him more and more.
He suddenly turned, the old instincts from his days in the mountains still very much alive, and he saw Jerusalem riding her brown mare toward him. He got up as she dismounted, and as she tied her horse to a sapling, he asked, “Is everything all right?”
Jerusalem turned, and her face was still, and yet there was something in her eyes that he could not identify.
“Nobody’s sick. Nobody’s snakebit. But I guess there’s more to being all right than that, don’t you think?”
“Come and sit down. I’ve been sittin’ out here feelin’ sorry for myself. You can sit down beside me and comfort me.”
Jerusalem sat down on the bank, and
just the presence of her being near stirred Clay. He had always thought she had the most beautiful mouth he had ever seen. It was rich and self-possessed with a curve that stirred him whenever she smiled. A summer darkness lay over her skin, and her dress fell away from her throat, showing the smooth ivory texture. He was also aware of the smoothness of her figure within her dress, and the sunlight was kind to her, showing the full, soft lines of her body. As she spoke, her lips made small changes in the corners, and from time to time she made a little gesture with her shoulders and expressive turns with her hands. The fragrance of her clothes powerfully touched him, and meeting her glance, he watched the expressions of her face as she spoke of the problems within the family for some time. She was worried about Zane, who had apparently no purpose at all. She was grieved by Julie’s working in a saloon and about Brodie, who was so distracted over Serena he couldn’t eat. Finally, she said wistfully, “I wish troubles would come one at a time so you could deal with them that way, but they don’t. They come in a crowd.”
“Did you ever throw a stone in the water?” Clay asked.
Jerusalem laughed, amused at the strange leaps his mind made. “You have a way of saying the craziest things that have nothing at all to do with what I say. I’m talking about my problems, and you’re talking about throwing rocks. You’ve got a mind like a grasshopper!”
Clay smiled at her, picked up a small stone, and tossed it out in the water. It made a pronounced plopping sound, and he nodded. “Look at how perfect the circles are.”
Clay seemed to go into fits of philosophy at times, and Jerusalem had learned to listen to him. “They are perfect, aren’t they?”
“Well, look at this.” He tossed another rock out, which caused another set of circles. “Look how them last circles disturbed the first set. And look at this.” He took several stones and threw them, and the concentric circles of the small waves were crisscrossed and had lost their symmetry. “Look how mixed-up they are. They’re all crisscrossed.” He reached out and touched a lock of her hair without speaking and then dropped his hand. “I guess that’s what you mean by wishing troubles would come one at a time. It’s like that circle when you throw one rock. It’s easy to keep up with that. But most of the time there’s about a half a dozen rocks hittin’ around us, and they get us all mixed up.”
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